


All this time did more than pass us by

by Stellacarlberg



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mentions of/reference to homophobia, Modern Era, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Elmer, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Racetrack Higgins, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 100,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellacarlberg/pseuds/Stellacarlberg
Summary: New York, 1899.David Jacobs fights alongside his fellow newsies. He is with them. His voice is sore from yelling, his legs are tired from running.New York, 2019.David Jacobs wakes up in the middle of the night. He is alone. His hands are shaking, his forehead is burning up, and he suddenly remembers names and faces he should not know.Flashes of memories are making their way through his mind, flying through at a rapid pace. He’s walking through central park, holding hands with Sarah in pigtails. Then he’s running through the same surroundings, laughter in his chest, adrenaline shooting through his veins, and with the figure of someone much larger than Sarah running alongside him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go!!!!
> 
> This is gonna be long one, so get comfortable. I will update regularly!

David’s room is cold and dark when he wakes up an early sunday morning with a jolt. His head is exploding with pain, making him unable to see or make sense of anything. Sharp, desperate gasps of air are making their way out of his lungs in an almost painful way. The blankets are twisted around his legs, his feet exposed to the cold at the end of his bed. He lays, unmovable, not sure for how long. It might have been hours, or mere minutes, it’s impossible for him to tell as the pain increases and decreases in intensity. Slowly, it disappears until it’s only a persistent throbbing in his head, and not making him blind. He carefully sits up and involuntarily groans loudly as he does. He leans back heavily against his pillows. Judging by the feeling of damp fabric on the back of his neck, he has either been sweating or crying in his sleep, and in this confused state he can’t tell which.

After a few moments of mental preparation, he rises slowly from his bed and stumbles into the bathroom. He is very grateful for the fact that he doesn’t have a roommate to wake up as he, quite noisily, grabs hold of the door to stay upright. The sharp light stings his eyes as he flips on the switch and he blinks a couple of times. Everything is spinning around in front of him, making him feel dizzy like he’s on a merry-go-round. He almost falls forward as he makes his way to the sink, which he grabs a almost painful hold of. He turns on the tap, and at the same time forces himself to focus on his surroundings. The cold water feels nice against his clammy face. After a minute or two of consciously controlling his breathing he is able to actively think, despite the still ever so present headache.

Is he sick? Does he have the flu? He doesn’t have a sore throat, or a runny nose, but does that mean anything, really? But, it’s september, not even cold enough to warrant wearing a scarf, let alone get the flu. But why is he feeling like this, then? 

He looks up into the mirror. His face is a bit pale, and beads of sweat are breaking out on his forehead. His chin is wobbling slightly, as if he’s about to cry, but he has no idea why. 

Suddenly a new wave of pain washes over him, worse than before. He slides down onto the uncomfortable floor, leaning against the bathtub. He is breathing heavily again, the pain suddenly making him worried not only for his general health, but his life. The sharp bathroom light feels like it’s forcing its way into his brain, despite him having his eyes pressed tightly closed. 

Flashes of memories are making their way through his mind, flying through at a rapid pace. Not all of them make sense. Some of them feels… off. He’s walking through central park, holding hands with Sarah in pigtails. Then he’s running through the same surroundings, laughter in his chest, adrenaline shooting through his veins, and with the figure of someone much larger than Sarah running alongside him. He is cooking dinner with his mom, tacos, and then he’s suddenly coming home to a small apartment with feet aching from walking for hours. High school-parties that smell of tobacco, which reminds him of a clear sky and the cold sting of sitting on a metal fire escape. And faces. A lot of them. Different ages, mostly boys, all kids. Angry kids. Sad kids. Happy kids. Tired kids. Kids sleeping on a dirty floor because they had to give up their bed for the night. Kids who use blunt nicknames to show their approval of a person. Hungry kids grasping for pieces of bread handed out by women with kind faces. Strong kids, carrying large stacks of newspapers. Throwing newspapers. Tearing newspapers up. 

A boy, not older than seventeen, with rage in his eyes and a fist in the air. 

He is shaking on the floor, shivering and groaning in pain at the same time. The surface is cool against his warm skin, and for a moment he puts his forehead against the tiles. His body craves sleep, and he is almost passed out when he remembers his bed. Slowly he drags himself up and staggers back to his bedroom, collapsing with his face into his pillows. The images in his mind seems to get brighter and more intense for a moment, before he finally passes out and everything goes black. 

* 

Sarah is a worrying person. She has to be, what with a 14-year-old little brother who has just gotten into puberty while still acting like a little child. When Les was younger he would talk to her and Davey as much as possible, sharing every little detail, even things they didn’t really care about. It has died down a bit over the years, even though there are still moments where Les starts to ramble on about stupid things. Sometimes, Sarah wishes for him to stop being so childish and actually grow up. Most of the time, however, she wants her little brother to keep on being - well - little.

Sarah also worries about Davey. It’s not the same kind of worry, because she knows that he can take care of himself. He is older than her, after all, if only by 16 months. But her older brother still works too hard and sleeps too little and drinks too much coffee for it to be healthy. So, therefore she worries about him as well. Especially when he doesn’t answer his phone for the fourth time the same day. Then, she really worries. So that worrying nature is what brings her to wait in an abandoned hallway at 10 am on a saturday.  
She knocks on Davey’s apartment door. Les is standing beside her, playing some game on his phone, and she fights the urge to take it from him and ruffle his hair. He hadn’t complained about going to Davey’s, but he hadn’t been overly enthusiastic about it either. Not that he had any choice in the matter, given the fact that Sarah was babysitting him for the day. 

The door doesn’t open, which only makes Sarah’s stomach twist further. It really isn’t like Davey to go quiet like this. After a moment she knocks again. Les glances up from his phone to look at his sister, but doesn’t say anything. A small part of Sarah regrets bringing him. If something is actually wrong, he shouldn’t be here. 

But there is nothing she can do about that now. 

She sighs and opens her bag to get the spare-key. 

The small student-apartment is dark and uncomfortably warm, and it smells of old air and sweat. There is a lump in the bed, barely distinguishable under the covers. Sarah is suddenly very aware of the fact that her brother is in college and probably wasn’t expecting a visit this early in the morning. From this distance she can’t tell if there are one or two people in the bed. 

She glances back at her little brother, who is craning his neck to get a better look into the apartment. “Les, can you wait outside for a minute?”

Les gives her a look. “I guess. Why?”

Sarah just turns him around and gently pushes him out of the door. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” 

She shuts the door just as Les half-yells: “I know what sex is, Sarah, I’m not a baby!”

A groan can be heard from the bed and a head of messy hair comes into view. 

“Davey?”

He looks at her without seeing her clearly, then sighs heavily before falling back against his pillows with a thud. She walks up to him and gently pulls the covers away from his face. 

She repeats his name, a bit louder this time. He still doesn’t answer. She feels his forehead and sighs when she notices how warm and clammy it is. 

She lets Les back in and orders him to get her some aspirin and water. “Lot’s of water,” she says. “The largest glass you can find.”

Davey is tossing and turning in his bed, eyes still closed, seemingly too tired to open them. His hands are shaking slightly despite being closed in tight fists against the sheets, and Sarah can hear him mumble in his fever-haze. 

“What’s that, Davey?” She pats his hair slightly, unsure of what to do to comfort him. Their parents were always the ones who took care of them when they were sick. Sure, Sarah is pre-med, but only second year. She is terribly inexperienced when it comes to actually caring for people. 

When Davey starts mumbling again, she leans forwards to try to make out a few words. 

“...Strike, the strike… No, Jack… R-run.”

“Who’s Jack?” Les asks, having returned with something that looks like a small vase of water. He glances quickly between his siblings. There is a small line of worry etched into his forehead.

Sarah shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

Davey suddenly opens his eyes, and it startles Sarah. His gaze is foggy with fever and delusion. “Sarah!” he gasps and grabs hold of her shirt. She is pulled forward a bit, and she almost falls over by the sheer force. She can feel his warm breath in her face, clinging to her skin. 

“Davey, it’s okay, everything is fine,” she says soothingly. He relaxes a bit, but doesn’t release his grip on her. 

“Where’s Jack? Is he okay?” He slurs a bit on his words, but his grip is surprisingly steady and determined.

“Davey, I don’t know who Jack is. Is he a friend from one of your classes, maybe?”

He blinks, like he’s looking at a big problem placed right on front of him without being able to solve it. “Jack? Where’s Jack?” he asks again. His voice sounds more uncertain now, and he glances around the room as if he is looking for this mysterious Jack.

Les takes a small step forward, now standing beside his sister. “Uh… Jack is fine,” he says, glancing hesitantly at Sarah and then back at Davey. “He is okay, I promise. You can relax.”

Davey looks at him for a moment, taking in this information. Then he nods and falls back against his pillows, closing his eyes once again.

* 

A couple of days go by, and David’s health improves. His fever disappears, he isn’t shaking anymore, and his headache is mostly gone. 

Physically, he is fine. 

Mentally, he is losing his mind. 

He is actually worried something is seriously wrong. What other explanation could there be as to why he suddenly has all these memories in his head? They are completely unreasonable, totally impossible. But for some reason, he is completely sure they are real. To him, the images of boys yelling headlines on a dirty street corner are just as legit as his memories of his high school-graduation. He doesn’t know how these other memories came to be, but they must have happened. These people must really have existed. All the names and faces makes his head spin every time he thinks of them, but he still can’t bring himself to believe it’s just a trick of his mind. Racetrack, Albert, Crutchie, Smalls, Specs… Jack. Not to mention the many others who are ever so present in his mind as he lays in his bed waiting for his migraine to pass. 

He can’t talk to Sarah or Les about it, either, because they would just worry. He can feel the looks they give each other behind his back when they think he’s not watching. Even Les - who is too young to worry about his brother’s health - is taking extra care to visit David in the afternoon after finishing school. As David starts to feel better, they sit together in silence and do their respective schoolwork. One day he asks how Les’ first year of high school is going, and they have a nice moment talking about popularity and old memories of when David was Les’ age. When Les goes home to eat dinner that night, David feels more calm than he has felt since that first night. There is something about talking about shared memories and making sure they actually happened that helps ground him. It is in moments like those that David makes a vow to himself to forget and ignore that night, and all the images he suddenly has in his mind. They can’t be real, they _are_ not real. There is no reason for him to sit and wonder about these boys who did not exist.  
Likely did not exist. 

But then he spots a newspaper on his kitchen table, or sees a person wearing suspenders on TV, and suddenly he’s back thinking about the kids over a hundred years ago. Not just kids. His _friends._

Come wednesday, he has gotten so much better that he can’t excuse staying home from class another day. So he showers, dresses, grabs his backpack and makes his way out of the apartment complex he is living in. 

It takes about two minutes until he is lost. 

He stops in his tracks, furrowing his eyebrows. His surroundings are so familiar, yet so foreign. The streets are the same streets he has walked for years, he should be able to navigate them like his own back pocket. But that’s not the case. He feels so small and unsure when he stands in the middle of the sidewalk with people walking past him.  
Something in his mind tells him that he should turn right at the next crosswalk to get to the subway. At the same time, another part of him is promising that the quickest way to get to campus is to keep on going forward and then taking the shortcut through Newsies square. 

Which doesn’t exists anymore. 

Right.

He turns right with a lump in his throat.

It is when he arrives back above ground after riding the subway that something happens. People are milling about, leaving the station with the kind of hurried steps reserved only for adults in the morning. He has just stepped off the escalator when the pair of doors leading to the elevators open with a small ding. He almost misses it - it’s an almost painfully mundane occurrence, after all - but something makes him slow down and glance over. 

A young man around David’s age walks out. He is walking on crutches, slowly and carefully moving forward, making his way between people. Everything about him is normal, from the dirty sneakers to the light grey jacket. He has a backpack over his shoulders, and a dark blue beanie pressed over blond hair. Most likely a college-student. He smiles apologetically when he asks an older man in a nice suit move a bit so he can pass. He doesn’t seem to focus on anything except navigating the crowded station.  
He walks past without seeing David, who is standing frozen to the spot. Because he recognizes that guy. He remembers him. Everything from the posture to the hair - not to mention the crutches - is familiar, and he feels something inside him almost tugging him forwards to the guy who is disappearing in the crowd at an alarming rate. Before he can stop himself David takes a couple of steps forward and yells: “Crutchie!”

He can see the guy slow down, like he isn’t sure if he heard correctly. David’s heart is thumping heavily in his chest. The guy turns around, and lets his gaze drift over his surroundings to see if he can find who yelled his name. His eyes land on David, who is holding his breath in anticipation. Something is going to happen, but he isn’t sure what. The guy’s eyes narrow slightly when he sees David stare at him, and he shuffles forward to him a couple of steps. David feels relief fill his body, pumping through his veins just as intoxicating as adrenalin. Crutchie remembers him! He isn’t alone, he will finally understand what is happening, he can -

“Uh, I’m sorry, do I know you?”

David stops breathing all together for a couple of seconds. 

Crutchie waits patiently for an answer. It takes a few seconds for David to remember how to speak. He swallows and shrugs a bit, trying for a smile that feels painfully fake. “I’m David,” he says. Then, after half a second of consideration, he adds: “Uh, my friends call me Davey, though.”

Crutchie smiles kindly and grabs David’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. He has deep dimples on his cheeks when he grins. “Nice to meet you, Davey, I’m Crutchie. But, uh, you seem to already know that?” His smile doesn’t falter, but David can sense a small hint of confusion in his voice. Before he can come up with a lie that doesn’t make him look like a weirdo, Crutchie draws in a breath. “Oh, no, wait, I do recognize you!”

“You do?” David heart is beating so fast he feels like he has just run a marathon. 

Crutchie grins. “Yeah! You’re in my psychology-class, right?”

Psychology. David _does_ take a psychology-class. Right? He thinks it’s psychology, at least. Maybe philosophy? Right now, he can’t seem to remember, so he just nods dumbly and hopes it’s the right answer. 

Crutchie just laughs and nods to himself. “I knew you looked really familiar! How’s your essay going? I am only halfway through, and Andersson is so harsh with her grading, I’m sure I’m gonna fail this assignment.”

David’s smile melts into something a little bit more genuine. The shock disappears a bit. Something about Crutchie’s relaxed posture and attitude rubs off on him.  
“What are you majoring in?” he asks, because he knows that is a standard protocol question that is not about to get him committed to a padded room. It’s obviously the right question as well, because Crutchie lights up.

“Theatre! I wanna direct, mostly. I’m just taking psych as an elective this year. Kind of regretting it, to be honest, it’s way more work than I expected.”  
David makes a face. “Yeah, you did draw the short straw.” 

Crutchie laughs again. “That, I did.”

David would think it’s almost weird how genuinely happy Crutchie seems to be talking to a complete stranger like it’s the most normal thing ever. Of course, he isn’t a complete stranger to David. Crutchie is one of his oldest, closest, friends. Standing here, talking about their classes like they didn’t go through a strike together, makes David’s whole body ache with a wish to tell him everything. 

But, despite everything happening the last couple of days, he still has enough of a objective view of his life that he knows that won’t solve anything. So he just smiles back towards Crutchie, like everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1!
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments to let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert nods, and then fidgets a bit in his seat. “I need a smoke. You still got a pack left, right? In your jeans?”  
> Race turns around in the door, just as he is about to walk out. He glares at Albert.  
> “Hey, that’s my cigarette, Al, don’t you fucking dare steal it.”

“SUCK A FUCKING DICK, HIGGINS!”

“JACKASS!”

“You asshole, get away from my item!”

“HELL YEAH, I’m fucking coming for you Albie.”

Race can feel Albert almost baring his teeth at that comment, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the TV-screen to double check. Albert doesn’t bother answering Race’s heckling. They finish the Mario Kart-race a moment later, Albert crossing the finish line a few seconds before Race. Race groans as Albert whoops and throws his hands in the air in victory. 

“What’s that?” he asks, feigning interest. “Does that mean I won the cup? Why, thank you, Race, for being such a decent loser!”

He smiles cockily at Race, who just throws his pillow in his face. Sadly, it doesn’t diminish the fact that he did lose.

“Up you go, bro,” Albert says and leans back on the sofa and throws up his long legs. “Loser pays for snacks, that’s the rule.” He looks way too smug for Race’s liking, but he is technically correct, so Race just sighs and stands up. He can feel how stiff his neck feels, and he grimaces and stretches it a bit. How long have they been playing?

Albert has taken out his phone from his hoodie and is scrolling. Race gives his head a shove when he passes. “Doritos or cheetos?” he asks as he makes his way towards the front door.

“Doritos, are you kidding me?”

Race makes a face. “I’m sorry your highness, I didn’t know your taste in snacks was universally accepted as the best.”

Albert sticks up his middle finger in Race’s direction as he pulls on his sneakers to run down to the store. “It should be. Doritos are the best.”

Race only rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Albert nods, and then fidgets a bit in his seat. “I need a smoke. You still got a pack left, right? In your jeans?” He is already standing up and crossing the dormroom to get to Race’s bed, which is full of clothes ready for the washing machine. He picks up the packet and pulls out a cigarette. Race turns around in the door, just as he is about to walk out. He glares at Albert.

“Hey, that’s my cigarette, Al, don’t you fucking dare steal it.”

“Like you didn’t steal them from your sister in the first place!” Albert protests, but Race has already left the dorm. 

As the door closes the room falls very quiet. 

Albert furrows his eyebrows slightly and glances around. The back of his neck tingles, like someone is watching him. The hairs on his arms are suddenly standing on edge.  
Nothing is obviously wrong, though. Everything in the room - from the clothes on the bed to the dirty mugs on the desk - is just as it’s supposed to be. 

So why does he have the sudden urge to run, as if danger is near?

He sits back down on the couch and plays with the cigarette between his fingers. Race has a point, he shouldn’t take it. But then again, Race is an asshole and Albert’s best friend since kindergarten. If anyone can spare a cigarette to anyone it’s Race to his lifelong friend. 

He sighs and leans back on the couch, resting his head against the back. After a moment he closes his eyes. The strange feeling doesn’t go away, instead it travels and settles somewhere above his navel. It’s not pain, but more like a small tightening, and a surging in his lungs. He rubs his chest absentmindedly for a moment. 

His eyes drift back to the small TV. They should play Zelda when Race gets back, he thinks. He is sure Race has an old Zelda-game lying somewhere, collecting dust. Or they could watch a movie, they have -

Without any sort of warning, he feels like he has been hit in the head with a frying pan. 

_“Hey, that’s my cigar!”  
“You’ll steal another!”_

When Race returns ten minutes later with a bag of doritos and two cans of soda, the dorm room is empty.

“Al?”

He puts the items down on the bed and glances around the room. Albert’s jacket and shoes are still there, lying in a heap beside his dresser. The TV is on, continuing playing the Mario Kart theme on low volume. Nothing seems so be different. Except for the absence of his friend, of course.

“Albert, where the fuck are you?” he yells. There is a sharp tap on the wall from his next-door-neighbor, but he ignores it.

There is a few seconds of silence, and then he hears a groan from the bathroom. Albert’s voice sounds slightly out of breath. “Over here.”

Race takes a step towards the door, that he now sees is slightly ajar. “You okay, buddy?” 

Albert comes staggering out. Race almost takes a step back when he sees him. The snapback he usually wears is off, and his hair underneath is plastered to his forehead and matted with sweat. His cheeks are flushed, but not in a way that makes him look healthy. His whole body is shivering slightly, and he looks incredibly small for a person who, to be fair, is taller than Race is. 

Albert stares at him. He then takes a couple of steps forward, almost falling headfirst into him. Race grabs hold of Albert’s shoulder, steadying him. “Jesus Christ, man. Did you get drunk during the ten minutes I was gone, or what?” The question is formed like a joke, but his voice is laced with concern. 

Albert simply keeps staring at him with wide eyes. “Holy shit.”

Race snorts. “What?” 

Albert’s mouth is shaped into a perfect O. It would almost be comedic if the situation wasn’t so unsettling.

“Holy shit, holy motherfucking shit.”

Race raises his eyebrows. Albert just waves aside the unspoken question and then points at his friend. “Tony.”

It’s Race’s turn to stare. Almost none of his friends ever use his real name, least of all Albert. “Uh...Yeah?” 

“Racetrack.” Albert stops for a second with furrowed eyebrows. “Wait, why the hell did we call you _Racetrack_?”

Race doesn’t really know how to react. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who came up with it. P.E, fourth grade, remember? I won track-race over all the others in our class?”

There is a moment where Albert looks at him blankly. Then he shakes his head. He snaps his finger. “No, no, it was because you always went to Sheephead’s _Races_ and sold papes.” He snorts. “You went all the way to Brooklyn, I never understood why…” His eyes widen, and he points at Race again. A laugh escapes his mouth, sounding almost a bit hysterical and not like Albert at all. “Wait, no, now I get it! The king of Brooklyn, right? That’s crazy, I never thought _he_ of all people would -”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Albert goes quiet. He blinks a couple of times and shakes his head a little as if to clear his thoughts. His smile has slipped off his face, leaving him looking a bit lost. “Shit,” he mumbles and turns around, grabbing his jacket from the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Race asks, trying to block the way when he turns to the door. 

“I’s goin’ home,” Albert says, and Race would mock him for the weird pronunciation and bad grammar if he wasn’t feeling sick to his stomach with worry. He grabs a hold of Albert’s arm. 

“No, you’re not fucking going home, what the fuck, Al?”

Albert shakes his head. Race can see that he is still trembling like a leaf. “I gotta find out what happened to Dave. Speak to Jack, tell him…”

“Who the hell is Dave? And tell Jack what?”

Albert shrugs helplessly, still looking around the room a little bit dazed. “I don’t know. Thank him?”

“ _Thank him?_ For what?”

Albert mutters something under his breath, and Race can only make out “taking care of us…” and “not leaving.”

“Okay,” he says and guides Albert to the couch again. “You sit down here, I’ll get you a fucking blanket or something, I don’t fucking know. You’re staying here tonight, you hear me?”

What Race is not ready for is for Albert’s face to fill up with tears at that comment, and him grabbing Race into a tight hug. It isn’t really weird, they aren’t like a lot of other guys who shy away from physical contact. It’s almost the opposite actually, they often find excuses to hug or touch their friends. But Albert doesn’t usually like to appear weak around others, so him crying in front of Race isn’t something that happens often. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into Race’s neck, and Race pats him on his back. The whole situation is so bizarre that he’s not sure what he’s doing.

“Anytime, man, you know that. Are you gonna be okay? Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?”

Albert pulls away, wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and then slowly shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

He sits down on the sofa. Race nods and goes to find a spare blanket somewhere. When he returns, Albert has already fallen asleep on the couch and is snoring loudly. With a sigh 

Race throws the blanket over his friend and then gets ready for bed himself. He can’t shake the feeling of something being seriously wrong. He forces himself to focus on brushing  
his teeth and changing clothes. Before he turns off the lights to sleep, he checks his phone and sees that he’s gotten new messages from three different people. 

**Crutchie to Race, 19:53:**  
_Something cool happened today ahah :D :) XD_

**Crutchie to Race, 19:53:**  
_It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you tomorrow, we’re still on for studygroup right? :) :) :)_

**Race to Cruthie, 23:12:**  
_yeahyeahyeah ofc we are. are rome and spex coming??_

**Crutchie to Race, 23:13:**  
_Yeah I think so! Jack has class tho so he can’t come :( Oh well, see you then :D_

**Jack to the groupchat, 21:02:**  
_PARTY PEOPLE LISTEN UP!!! I’m HOSTING again!!!! next saturday, bring your own fucking BOOZE_

**Jack to the groupchat, 21:03:**  
_that was a bit intense i’m sorry. but serisly bring your own booze i’m poor af_

**Race to the groupchat, 23:13:**  
_go to sleep jack_

**Mush to Race, 22:57:**  
_hey, are you still up? just wanted to say i appreciate you. you are a good person. you always were there for us, even when jack couldnt be. thank you. love you_

Race stares at his phone. “What the fuck?” he whispers to himself. He glances at Albert, sleeping in the other end of the room. The unsettled feeling in his stomach returns with a vengeance. 

**Race to Mush, 23:14:**  
_thanks i guess?? ily2 man. r u ok????_

**Mush to Race, 23:16:**  
_idk i’m in a weird mood tonight hah, i guess you could say i’m feeling a bit nostalgic_

**Race to Mush, 23:16:**  
_lol u big sap. this is why we call u mushhh_

**Mush to Race, 23:17:**  
_hahah yeahhh. anyway, i guess i’ll see you tomorrow at the library?_

**Race to Mush, 23.17:**  
_u bet. say hi to blink for me ;)_

**Mush to Race, 23:18**  
_yeah. i will. goodnight_

**Race to Mush, 23:18**  
_nightttt !!_

Race puts his phone away and sinks deeper into his matress. He stares into the ceiling for a couple of minutes, thoughts flying around in a mumbled mess in his brain. It takes a long while until sleep comes.

In another part of the city, there is another dorm filled with quietness. Mush puts his phone down and pulls his bed covers up higher, blocking out the street lights shining into his room. He can feel Blink next to him, lying close in the small bed. His steady breathing is an uneven match to Mush’s own.

“He doesn’t know?”

Mush shakes his head. His body feels numb. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. What’s the protocol here? What _can_ he do? He wants to continue texting the others - to see if anyone else remembers - but his hands are shaking too much to hold the phone, let alone type anything.

But then Blink - fantastic, magical and wonderful Blink - just pulls Mush closer to him and puts his arms around him, holding him tight and shielding him from the world. 

“You’re okay, Mush,” he reminds him softly, patting his curls slowly. A tear escapes Mush’s eye. It wets the pillow. 

“I’m _not_ okay.” he says and sniffs slightly. “Neither are you. What’s happening, Louis? Why is this happening?”

Blink shushes him. “Breathe, okay? You are here, in your room, in New York. Your name is Michael Meyers. You’s twenty years old, you were born in 1998...”

“Was I, though?” Mush says quietly, interrupting him.

Blink doesn’t answer, but after a couple of seconds he takes Mush’s hand and places it on his chest. Mush can feel his own heart beating steady under his shirt. Blink’s hand is  
warm and comforting.

“Feel that? That’s proof. This is real, Mush. You exist, just as much as you did back then.”

Mush closes his eyes, trying to block out the sound of carriage wheels against stone and small children yelling. 

“Back then…” he whispers. He grabs Blink’s hand tightly, not wanting to let it go, and as usual Blink doesn’t need a translation to understand his actions. 

“I know,” he says. “But I’s here, too. Just as I was then. We don’t have to worry about that now. Ain’t no one who can hurt us no more.”  
Mush doesn’t answer. 

Blink runs a hand through his boyfriend’s curls. “Mush, sweetheart?”

Mush flips over and buries his face in Blink’s chest, nodding hastily and probably making his shirt damp in the process. “I know. I know.” And when his feelings build up in his chest and need to get out, he whispers: “I love you.”

Blink places a firm kiss on the top of Mush’ head. “I love you too. Always.”

It takes a few hours, but at last they drift off to sleep, still wrapped up in each other’s embrace. The night goes on and turns into morning. Albert wakes up on Race’s couch and is for a second confused why he fell asleep there. However, it doesn’t take long until everything comes back to him.

Remembering is freaky.

He doesn’t know what happened, how it happened, or why it happened. The only thing he is completely sure of is that he now has a lot of memories in his mind that shouldn’t be there. But there is something inside of him - in his very soul, if you will - that makes him certain that it is real. 

The memories include a lot of friends with stupid nicknames and playing cards or dice late at night. He distinctly remembers the smell of cigars, and getting newspaper-ink on his hands and clothes. He can clearly see his friends faces, but they look younger. Race’s face is dirty, and his jaw isn’t as sharp as it is now. Jack’s forehead has less lines etched into it. Romeo is much shorter.

Yeah. Freaky.

He thanks every god in heaven he only has one class on thursdays and that it’s in the afternoon. He doesn’t know if he could deal with having to go and listen to a lecture while feeling like this. 

Race gives him slightly concerned looks while they sit in silence and eat toast for breakfast. Albert is relieved he doesn’t mention last night. He isn’t sure he would know how to explain the things he rambled on about in his daze. So they sit without talking, Race chewing thoughtfully and Albert furiously typing on his phone, trying to find anything that might make him understand the situation he’s in. 

Google hates him, apparently, because it won’t give him any legit results when he searches for _help, i remember my past life._ He gives up after a couple of minutes, frustration making his whole body jittery. He begins to drum on the table, but the mix of anxiety and restlessness doesn’t pass. Without a word, Race hands him one of his fidget cubes. Albert takes it gratefully.

The college library is, as usual, pretty crowded when they arrive there at noon. Albert is walking two steps behind Race, typing on his phone and almost walking into bookshelves. Race grabs a hold of his arm and steers him to the table where he can see their friends sitting. Specs, Romeo and Crutchie are already there, and they greet them cheerfully.

“Congrats, you are not as late as Mush and Blink,” Specs says with a well-meaning albeit somewhat teasing grin as they sit down and pull out their books and laptops. 

“That’s not much of an achievement,” Romeo poins out. “They are probably here, just in a corner making out and being gross.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Crutchie elbows Romeo in the ribs. “Huh, _Romeo_?”

Romeo puts a hand on his chest and feigns offence. “I’ll have you know that I would never let my friends have to live through the awkwardness of watching someone you know making out.”

“I can literally give you examples of ten different occasions that would beg to differ.”

Romeo pointedly ignores him.

“Y’all good?” Race asks the table and gets a hum of agreement from his friends. 

“Not when you are talking like that, you give me physical pain” Albert mutters from Race’s side without looking up from his screen. 

“I use ‘y’all’ not as a southerner, Albert, but as a gay. Get with the times.”

“This paper is killing me,” Crutchie groans, effectively changing the subject. “Why did I think it was a good idea to take psych, again?”

“Because you like learning things that will be of no use to you, isn’t that right?” Race laughs quietly and dodges the half hearted punch he gets. 

“Oh, while we’re on the subject of my psych-class,” Crutchie continues - as if Race hadn’t said anything - while he flips through a book in front of him. “That’s what I was gonna tell you about. I ran into this guy yesterday, and I was like ‘damn, he looks really familiar’, right? Well, turns out he’s in the same class as me, and he’s gonna help me out with the paper so I won’t fail.”

“Cool,” Race says while doodling a horse in his notebook. “Anyone we know?” But before Crutchie gets a chance to reply, he looks up and continues. “Oh wait, we probably don’t know him. If he’s taking psychology, he must be boring as shit.”

“Look who’s talking, huh?” Romeo asks, grinning and aiming a pencil at Race’s head. “Mr Statistics and Probability!” He throws the pencil but it only bounces off Race’s chest and falls onto the table with a pathetic clatter. 

“At least my degree will actually give me a job, Romeo, while all yours is gonna do is give you a headache.” He picks it up and throws it back with slightly more force than necessary. He glances back at Albert, expecting him to laugh along, but he is still on his phone, not paying attention to the conversation. 

“A headache?” Romeo is still smiling good heartedly. “I happen to love history.”

Race rolls his eyes. “History is nothing but straight, white, men ruining everything. I get enough of that from everyday life.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” Specs says and raises his water bottle without taking his eyes from his flashcards. 

Suddenly Albert looks up from his phone. “Wait,” he says. “Romeo, dude, you study history.”

Romeo’s smile falters and he rolls his eyes. “I _know_ , okay? I’ve heard them all, ‘Romeo is gonna be unemployed when he graduates, oh Ro, what can you even _do_ with a history degree-?’”

“No, no,” Albert says and gestures wildly with his arms to shut him up. “I need a favor. Could you help me with some research?”

Romeo stares. The others stare as well. Even Specs has teared his eyes away from his work to look at Albert.

“You…” Romeo shakes his head. “....Like, historic research?”

“Yeah.”

“You need my help? With historic research?”

“Yeah.” 

“...What kind of research?”

Albert goes a bit red, making his ears match his hair. He takes off his snapback and spins it in his hands before putting it back on again. “It’s about…” He glances around the table and then shakes his head. “Oh, fuck it, it doesn’t matter, forget I said anything.”

“No!” Romeo says a little bit too loud and throws himself over the table to grab Albert’s hands. He gets a dirty look from the receptionist at the sudden outburst, but he just smiles apologetically at her and then turns quickly back to Albert. “Albert, darling. I love you. Doing historical research is one of my favorite things. Of course I’ll help.”

“Help with what?”

Blink and Mush sit down at the already crowded table. Blink pushes Race’s books aside to put his own notes down in front of him. 

“Albert needs help with some historical research,” Romeo says with the air of a proud mother. 

Blink hums non-committedly, but Mush turns to Albert. “Oh, really? Why?”

Albert shrugs. “Uh, well, you know how sometimes you fall down a wikipedia-hole?”

Specs, Romeo and Race say “Yes,” at the same time as Blink, Crutchie and Mush say “No,” with just as much conviction. Albert glances between his friends for a second.  
“...Right,” he says hesitantly. “That’s what happened anyway, and I… just wanna find out a bit more about this thing.”

“What thing?” Mush asks. Albert coughs. His mind is running at sixty miles per hour, trying to come up with something that will make this situation less suspicious. Mush’s mildly interested look and the general attention he’s getting from the rest of the group makes him panic. But only slightly. He’s cool. Everything is fine.

“Uh, about… about the kids who walked around and sold newspapers here in New York, like about a hundred years ago?”

Both Blink and Mush stop, frozen in their tracks. Blink was just about to grab his laptop, and his bag is now dangling almost comically from his outstretched hand. He and Mush glance at each other as if they are reading each other's minds at a rapid pace. No one would be surprised if they actually could.  
Only a second passes before they plaster on smiles and nod. 

“Cool subject!” Blink says, his voice a little too high pitched to sound normal even to his own ears. “Hey, Al, can I talk to you for a sec? Between four… “ He stops and touches his eyepatch. “Well… three eyes?”

Albert looks like a deer caught in headlights, his nervous energy contrasting weirdly with his bright purple snapback and tank top, but he nods and stands up. Blink nods to Mush, and then he and Albert walk to a more private part of the library. Albert doesn’t know what to expect. Sure, he and Blink are friends. Good friends, even. They have been for years, ever since they all got to know each other in freshman year of college. But they are not as close as Albert is with Race or Crutchie, who he has known since they were kids. And, not to mention… Blink can be kind of intimidating, to be honest. The dude wears an actual eyepatch. Albert isn’t even sure why he wears it. He has never dared to ask. 

They round a corner. Blink drags Albert by his arm along a bookshelf until they find a spot where they won’t risk evesdroppers. He turns on Albert, who shrinks back in a way that is not as macho as he would have liked it to be. He quickly crosses his arms, trying for a casual pose. 

“So, Blink, what’s u-”

“Do you remember?”

Albert shuts his mouth hastily. Blink is staring intensely at him. He so close that Albert must take a small step back. His mouth is a tight line, and he doesn’t break eye contact.  
Then, after a second, Albert manages to take in what he is saying. He can feel his whole body surge with a shot of adrenaline and his eyes widen slightly.  
“Oh my _god_ , yeah, I do. 1899?”

Blink releases a breath and nods. He has a smile growing on his face. “Holy shit, Al, I didn’t think anyone else knew.” He pulls Albert into a tight hug. “This is great, how long?”

Albert swallows. “Not long at all,” he says and lets out a small laugh. 

Blink pulls away, but keeps a firm hand on Albert’s bicep. “We’ve been so fucking worried, man, you have no -”

Albert interrupts. “Wait, ‘we’?” 

Blink raises his eyebrows slightly, but before he can say anything else another voice can be heard behind them. 

“Albert, I can’t believe you also remember!” 

And then Mush is hugging him just as tightly, arms wrapped around him in a warm cocoon. Albert’s thoughts are spinning in his head, and he can’t really conquer up a proper response for what just happened. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just opts for relaxing slightly into the embrace.

For the first time in the last twenty four hours he thinks that maybe he’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am never writing so many texts at once ever again. Making them italics and bold took far too long lmaooo
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Don't forget to leave comments to let me know what you think!
> 
> My tumblr: @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their group keeps growing bigger, but that doesn't mean they have any more clue about what if happening.

After that meeting and finding out they’re not alone nor insane, things move quickly. Firstly, they meet up to discuss how to deal with everything that is happening. It doesn’t take long until they agree to not tell anybody else. 

“You should have seen the look on Race’s face when I first started remembering,” Albert says when he, Mush, and Blink are hanging out in Mush’s dorm room. “He was so fucking worried, he must have thought I was going crazy.” His eyes are fixed on the stim-toy in his hand, and his eyebrows are furrowed in either concentration or deep thoughts.

Mush nods seriously. “Yeah, I worried about the same thing when I started remembering, but it turned out…” his voice dies down. He grabs a Blink’s hand and squeezes it. 

Albert glances up. “How long have you remembered?” he quietly asks Blink. 

Blink fidgets in his chair and glances at Mush, then back at Albert. “A few days before Mush, almost a week, I think? I… I never said anything, tried to hide it. But then Mush remembered, and we… But we still didn’t know what…” He stops for a moment, trailing off like he isn’t sure how to make himself clear. He shrugs and leans back on the bed. “I mean, it took a few days until we knew you knew as well. We didn’t know what to think during that time.”

Albert meets up with Romeo whenever they both have time to do historical research of the Newsboys strike of 1899. Romeo is very excited the first meeting; he keeps talking about how long he has waited for any of his friends to show any interest in history, just so he can discuss it. Then he continues by rambling on about history, in general. “-And that is why I decided to change my thesis to what Churchill’s speeches _lacked_ compared to the speeches of other political leaders of that time, and not what it _had_ , you see?” Albert nods like he hadn’t been completely zoned out. If Romeo notices anything, he doesn’t mention it. “But, in the end, the world wars aren’t really my favorite thing to write about,” he continues as they settle down at a computer. “There are so many parts of history that are often overlooked only because we -”

Albert clears his throat and nods at the computer. Romeo stares at him for a second, before drawing in a sharp breath. “Right!” he says and grins. “New York, 19th century. Let’s go.”

It’s a surprise to Albert how easy it is to find records of the strike. After all, back then it had seemed to them like no paper wanted to publish a word. They had felt completely alone. “Are you…” he narrows his eyes on the screen in front of him. “You sure this is the right one?” 

“You tell me,” Romeo answers and leans back in the chair. “There were other strikes during the 19th century, but this is the only one that matches the exact year you gave me.” He glances up at Albert, who is standing hunched over beside him. “Why wouldn’t it be the right one?”

“Nevermind,” Albert mutters and shakes his head. 

It takes only a couple of meetings with Romeo until he has a decently filled folder of notes and facts to bring back to Mush and Blink. In total they spend hours going through everything they find, trying to sort out the facts from their own memories and experiences. It is a kind of emotional process. Usually they can only manage to do it for about twenty minutes at a time before they all get exhausted from overflows of feelings.

A problem that arises is that Romeo, no matter how happy he is to do some nerdy research, gets more and more suspicious every time they meet up. 

“Why are you so interested in this strike, now again?” he asks one day, when they are at a public library looking for old newspaper articles. Albert is scribbling down dates on a piece of paper, drawing up a mind-map with a type of hyperfocus he rarely can conjure up. Romeo frowns at him slightly. “I mean, it seems like this goes beyond just a normal curiosity.”

Albert does his best to dodge the questions, but he doesn’t do a good job and instead decides to run for it. He grabs the paper and presses it into his bag before standing up.

“...I’m sorry, man, it’s just, I have this seminar tomorrow…” This is a lie, of course. And even if it wasn’t, it would have been a bad excuse. It’s not that Albert doesn’t care about school, it’s just… He doesn’t really care as much as many others do…. or at much as he should.

Romeo tilts his head a bit, but doesn’t ask him why he’s obviously lying. “Yeah, sure.” He glances at the computer. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit longer, though, see if I can find anything else. Is that okay with you?”

Albert can not for his life think of a valid reason why not, so he just nods and leaves the library as quickly as he can. 

After the incident, he thinks he should have realised it would have happened sooner or later. 

Romeo puts his headphones in and continues browsing through the years. He stops suddenly when he comes to a black and white picture on the front page of the New York Sun from 1899. 

He doesn’t show up to the library to study the next day, and Specs explains that he came home the night before with a terrible headache. Albert can feel Mush and Blink giving him pointed glances.

When he gets a bit better, Romeo confronts Albert. He was planning to be angry with him for not telling him anything, but it turns into mostly hugging and crying (Only on Romeo’s part, Albert promises the others. Mush and Blink only give each other a look.) After that, Romeo joins their small gang. 

A new problem arises when they are at Albert’s apartment one day. Turns out that Romeo’s opinions clash with the others’ in a pretty significant way. 

“No!”

“Come on, Blink.”

“No way! We can’t just go around and tell -”

“It’s _Specs_ , man!”

“I don’t fucking care!”

Mush puts a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder to calm him down, but you can tell he is almost just as angry.

“Romeo,” he begins, taking a step forward. It is surprisingly intimidating. “We can’t tell anyone about this. Not until they remember for themselves.”

“But -” Romeo tries to argue again. He has traces of tears in his eyes and his whole face is scrunched up in frustration. Albert stops his sentence by shushing him and handing him a bag of doritos. 

“Come on, man. Sit down. Eat some chips.”

Romeo begrudgingly agrees and flops down onto Albert’s bed. Mush and Blink whisper something to each other and glance at him again. He pointedly does not look in their direction. Albert rolls his eyes. “Okay, if you boys can play nice for, like, ten minutes, I need a fucking cigarette.”

He rises and grabs his jacket from a chair. He climbs out onto the fire escape outside of the small apartment, lights a cigarette and takes a drag of it. He doesn’t smoke a lot. He doesn’t really have the money for it, which is why he’s extra annoyed since he can’t even enjoy the luxury of a cigarette because he can’t stop _thinking_. 

Being outside on a fire escape feels exactly like it did in 1899. If he closes his eyes and only takes in the sound of New York and his own breathing, he can’t tell when he is existing. The lines blur surprisingly easy, and it kind of freaks him out. 

Romeo should stay in his fucking lane. Don’t tell anyone who doesn’t already remember - they agreed on that from the beginning. But Romeo has always had trouble keeping secrets from his friends, especially Specs who he has known for years. It does not bode well for their group. Albert is sure that if anyone ever found out what the four of them were doing every time they snuck off together, they would try to get them to a hospital to check for brain injuries. 

“Hey, Al!”

Albert opens his eyes at the sudden interruption, and his gaze follows the sound of the noise to the street below. He lives only on the third floor, so it’s not difficult to tell that it’s Race waving at him from the street. 

“What are you doing here?” Albert yells down at him, quickly glancing back into the apartment. Romeo is still eating chips on the sofa and not talking to Mush or Blink. Albert looks back at Race, who has now started climbing the fire escape. 

“Just dropping by,” he says when he’s standing next to Albert. To his annoyance, Race steals his cigarette and takes a drag. Albert decides not to say anything. Race stops in his tracks when he glances into the apartment and sees its occupants. 

“Oh. You already have guests, I see.” 

Albert snorts and takes the cigarette back. “Guests? Sure, that’s one way to put it. More like parasites who eat all of my chips.”

“Speaking of Romeo…” Race grins at Albert, but the smile doesn’t really meet his eyes. “I met Specs earlier. He said Romeo has been avoiding him. You know anything about that?”

Albert doesn’t look at Race. “No, I don’t, sorry. Romeo says he’s fine.”

Race nods thoughtfully. “Like you? You say you are fine, too.”

“I am fine.” Albert carefully pronounces the words to not let the accent slip out too much. It has become increasingly difficult to hide it as the days pass.

Race laughs, but it’s short and a little bit sharp. “Yeah, sure, sure, that thing you pulled the other night? Freaking out, talking about fucking apologizing to Jack and other shit?  
Totally normal.” He shakes his head in disbelief and quickly drops his smile when he looks back at Albert. “But… If you’re not… okay I mean, you would tell me, right?”

Albert doesn’t say anything for a moment, just blows out smoke and watches the building across the street. The gray cloud fades out and becomes one with the already toxic city air. He is buying himself time, a couple more seconds where he doesn’t have to give answers to things he can’t talk about.

“Maybe you should just let Specs and Romeo be, man. I don’t know.”

Race punches Albert softly in the shoulder. “They’re our friends, though. I wanna help.” 

Albert throws the cigarettebutt to the street below. He feels sick to his stomach when he turns to face his best friend. “Maybe you should just stay out of other people’s business, Race.”

The silence is heavy as they stare at each other. It looks like Race wants to say something, but can’t find the right words to react to what Albert said. The tense silence is only broken when a cough comes from the window. It has opened and Mush’s head is sticking out. “Hey, Race!” he says with a strained smile. “You coming in?”

Race is still staring at Albert. His jaw is tightened, and eyes narrowed dangerously. Albert waits for the blow, whether a verbal or a physical one.

“No,” Race says finally. “I was just leaving.” And then he does just that, climbing down the same way he came up. It hurts more than getting punched would have.

Albert swears under his breath, and pushes Mush aside to get back into the apartment. 

Mush quickly shuts the window after following him back into the apartment. “You’re not telling him, Alb-” 

But Albert stops him before he can finish by turning around with a snarl. “I wasn’t fucking planning to, Mush, did you not see me completely blowing him off just now?”

Romeo and Blink are both staring at them. Mush tries to put a hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Albert-”

He dodges Mush’s hand by taking a step to the side. “Can you leave? All of you? I need some space, please.”

But for some reason, the apartment seems even more crowded when he is by himself. 

The fight with Mush doesn’t last long. The next time they meet they act like nothing happened. After all, they have only each other to lean on to figure out their situation. If they start arguing in the group, they won’t have a chance. That’s compared to Albert’s relationship with Race, who he hasn’t seen for days. He tries not to think about it.

It turns out that having a history nerd among them has its perks; they are pleased when they find that Romeo is very skilled in finding lots of relevant information quickly. It doesn’t take long until they have a small pile of lists and notes. The only problem is that they’re not completely sure what they are going to use these notes for. But doing something - even if it’s unnecessary - makes them feel a bit better about the situation they are in. Like they actually have some sort of control over it. Which they don’t, of course.  
They all want to see if they can find more former newsies, their friends, but it’s harder than they thought it would be. Not only are they prohibited from looking at the college enrollment register, but soon they are facing an unexpected problem. 

“Why the _fuck_ did we think having abstract and weird nicknames was a good idea?” 

They have entered the third hour of searching social media and the school website for names they recognize, and none of them have come up with anything so far. Blink has just thrown his phone on the table in frustration after not being able to find anyone on instagram who goes by the nickname of Tommy-Boy.

“You call yourself _Kid Blink_ , babe,” Mush reminds him with a small pat on the shoulder. Despite the brave face he is putting on, he is also looking worn out and more irritated than usual. 

“Whatever,” Blink continues and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, we were _friends_ with all of them.”

“Yeah,” Mush agrees. 

“Best friends,” Albert adds, thinking of late nights playing poker with Race, or walking around the city at night, looking at the stars with Jack. 

“Right,” Blink says. “So can you tell me why the hell I don’t know half of them stupid names?”

Romeo sniggers and aims a paper airplane at Blink. “We were a bit secretive, yeah?” He misses by about three feet.

“Nah, not Al. Not you, either,” Mush says and smiles at Romeo - both teasing and kind at the same time. “Yours wasn’t that secretive at all. You are aware that he dies in the end, right?”

Albert and Blink laugh as Romeo lightly shoves Mush. 

“I didn’t know it back then, I didn’t have an education, did I? And after all, it wasn’t like we chose our own names, huh, _Mush_?”

The others continue snickering and teasing each other. The air in the room is light and calm, as if the secret they are all hiding doesn’t exist. Outside these four walls, they have to lie and come up with excuses to their friends. But when it’s just the four of them, they can talk freely about anything without any worries. Of all the people in the world, those in this room right now are the only ones who understand. They stick together. 

Romeo glances at the clock and shoots up from his seat. “Shit, I should get going, I’m already late.”

“We’ll see you at the party?” Mush asks, and Romeo nods in confirmation as he grabs his backpack. 

“See you later.”

The others give each other looks when he leaves the room. “Specs?” Mush asks with slightly raised eyebrows. 

Albert smirks. “Of course it’s Specs,” he says. “Romeo never rushes for anyone, except for him.” 

The late september air is crisp but mild when Romeo makes his way back to the dorms. People are out walking, on their way home from work or on their way out for a night on the town. Romeo always loves this time of night. It’s still early, and the air is full of possibilities. You don’t know yet how your day will end, if the club you’re going to will suck or be amazing, if the restaurant will be nice or ridiculously overpriced. The night is still unclear, but with the prospect of everything turning out great. You never know, and that is what makes it so exciting.

When Romeo finally gets back to the dorm, Specs glances up from his laptop. “You’re late,” he says matter-of-factly. 

His whole posture tells Romeo that he has been hunched over the desk all day. Has he even gone outside? Romeo glances him up and down and takes note of the - frankly, adorable - sweatshirt and his glasses that are slightly askew on his nose. 

He makes a face when he remembers that he should answer. “Sorry, I… I got stuck with something, forgot the time.”

He makes his way over to his wardrobe and begins to go through it for something to wear. “What do you wanna eat tonight?” he asks over his shoulder.  
Specs moves so he’s standing next to Romeo as he is choosing between a striped collared shirt or a t-shirt with a floral print. “Whatever’s fine. So, are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?”

Romeo freezes in his steps. There is a moment when he almost drops the shirts he is carrying, but he manages to keep his grip on them last minute. He glances at Specs, who is watching him closely, waiting for an answer. Fuck, okay. 

He knew this would happen, because Specs is way too intelligent to not notice when something’s wrong. Now he is looking at Romeo, expecting him to tell the truth and Romeo doesn’t have any idea of how to do that in this situation. Usually he is a very honest person, almost too much so in some instances. But he has - however reluctantly - promised the others to not say anything. 

It’s a split-second decision. He shoots a confident smile towards Specs. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

Specs doesn’t say anything for a moment, just shrugs and motions at Romeo. “You have seemed off for days. Are you still feeling sick?”

Romeo shakes his head quickly. “No, I’m fine -”

“Because if that’s how you feel, we can skip the party. It’s okay to be sick. You don’t have to be on top of everything all of the time, Ro.”

Romeo ignores the pretty obvious innuendo (damn, character development much?) and shakes his head. “I’m fine, you know I never miss a party, especially Jack’s-”

“That’s exactly my point!” Specs looks exasperated. 

Romeo glares at him, a small hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Is this you just trying to get out of going to Jack’s party so you can be a good student again?”

Specs rolls his eyes. “Don’t be like that, Ro, this isn’t about me.”

Romeo puts up his hands in mock defeat. “It ain't about me either, because I’m just fine.”

“Come on,” Specs pleads. “Just… be honest with me.”

Romeo slowly puts his hands down, eyes still locked with Specs’, who is looking sincerely worried. He wants to tell him. He really does. He hates lying to Specs, who is always so open and honest. They don’t usually lie to each other. Romeo can’t remember telling Specs a big lie since he met him, which is pretty impressive since they have been best friends since high school. 

But, this… this is bigger than anything they’ve ever faced before. 

“Specs, I…” Specs is quiet, waiting expectantly. Romeo doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Specs. But… I really can’t tell you.”

Specs shakes his head, frustration etched into his face instead of his usual smile. “Why not?”

“Because… Because I can’t. I’ve promised to not tell anyone.”

They are quiet, staring at each other. The silence is building around them, growing more and more intense for every second until it’s almost unbearable. Specs looks like he is trying to read something with dirty glasses. He is squinting slightly. searching Romeo’s face to make out something. 

At last he sighs in defeat. “So. Pizza?” He turns around to get his phone. 

Romeo smiles slightly at the back of him. “Yeah, sounds good.”

A bit later that night, David is lying on his bed, copying down notes from a lecture. It’s tedious work that kind of makes him want to die, but the thought of having the whole rest of the weekend off is what keeps him going. He is just writing down a summary of Moliéer’s effects on french as a lingua franca when there’s a knock on his door. He glances at the watch on his bedside table with a slight frown. It’s way too late for him to have unexpected guests. Not that anyone usually visits him, anyway.  
He goes and opens the door with a sigh, only to find his sister standing in front of him. 

“What are you doing here?” David asks as he lets her in. She grins at him and gives him a hug. 

“I’m taking you out,” she says when they let go.

David raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “You are?”

“I am.” She pokes his chest lightly. “You need to get out a bit, it’s saturday night and you are sitting home alone.” David opens his mouth to argue but she shakes her head to silence him. “Okay, that’s fair,” she says as if she knows what he was about to say. “Davey, do you have any fun plans for tonight?”

He is silent. The truth, that he was just about to order takeout and fall asleep in front of a trashy reality show he couldn’t care less about, is too depressing to speak aloud. Sarah looks slightly triumphant. 

“Exactly,” she says and takes his hand. “I’m going to this party just outside campus, it’s kind of lowkey and not very far from here.”

David shakes his head forcefully. “Sarah, you know I hate parties.”

“You don’t have to drink. I probably won’t.”

This makes him a little calmer, since it means he won’t have to worry about his little sister getting home safely while intoxicated. He is still hesitant, however. 

“I don’t like talking to strangers.”

“I’ll be there!”

“You’ll have your friends there, I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

When David still looks unconvinced, she sighs. He can sense her frustration. She glances around the room. “You have barely talked to me since you got sick. And ever since you got your own place instead of living at home, you’ve been more closed off than ever. You know that right? You never meet anyone, you don’t talk to a lot of people... ” 

David thinks about Crutchie, but doesn’t say anything. They met up only a couple of days ago. It had been both awkward and nice, at the same time. Being around Crutchie had been calming, in a way. He had been so like himself that David could have almost closed his eyes and pretended they were back in the 19th century. 

“Thank you again for helping me with this,” Crutchie had said when they sat down at the café. 

David had smiled at him. “Of course, no worries.”

They had worked diligently for a couple of hours, David helping out in any way he could. He had felt his anxiety increasing over the course of the afternoon. Sitting this close to Crutchie had only made him want to ask about 1899, about remembering, about the strike. And mostly he had wanted to ask about the others. If Crutchie is here - if he exists just as David does- could the others also be? It seems almost too good of a wish to be true, so he had not dared to ask. In his mind, however, the image of meeting Jack again had played on a loop for hours.

Sarah looks at him again, making David wake up from his daydream. He can feel her inspecting his face, taking in his features. She hesitates a second before continuing. 

“Mom is wondering if you’ve taken your meds.”

David almost rolls his eyes, but stops himself last second. There it is, the actual reason for her visit. 

“I am almost twenty one, Sarah-”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes, I’ve been taking my meds, and no, I won’t go to this stupid party.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’ll be stupid, actually, the guy who is hosting is apparently really both nice and cute-”

“Sarah.” He looks at her sincerely, wanting her to understand him clearly. “You won’t get me to go to this party by promising cute boys. I’m not that desperate.”

She sighs again. David notices that she’s doing that a lot. “Okay, it was worth a shot.” He hates how pitying she looks when she looks at him. “But, call me if you change your 

mind, okay?” She sounds genuinely disappointed, and David is - if only for a second - tempted to come with her even if it only is to make her happy. Then the moment passes.  
He nods, and she pulls him into a tight hug. It ends before David wants it to.

“Oh, don’t forget family dinner on tuesday,” Sarah says as she grabs her purse. “I was over there earlier today. Les misses you.”

“Of course,” he says. “Do you have wrapping paper, though? I still need to wrap his present.”

Sarah nods. “Yeah, sure, just text me when you wanna borrow it.” She waves a goodbye at David. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow!”

“Have fun tonight.”

The room feels even more quiet when she’s gone. David sighs and sits down on his bed again. His schoolwork looks even more depressing than it had before.  
Did he make a mistake? Maybe Sarah has a point. Maybe he should be trying to socialize more. There is still something holding him back, though. Whether you’d call it general anxiousness or just being tired, he isn’t sure. 

But honestly, trying to figure out how to balance memories of two lives is draining as it is. Only this day had David almost broken down during lunch because he had to stop and think about how a soda dispenser worked. He had stood there for almost a minute, looking at this machine. He had known that he should know how to use it, but in that moment it had looked completely alien to him. It had been both scary and embarrassing.

Add the extra anxiety of meeting new people on top of that and David would probably stop working all together. 

Of course, there are some people he wouldn’t mind meeting. But there is a difference between not minding meeting someone and actually wanting to meet someone.

And if he is completely honest, the only person he actually _wants_ to meet is Jack. 

It’s stupid, and cheesy, but David honestly doesn’t think he will ever be able to think about this situation clearly without Jack’s black-and-white way to look at the world. It had helped back in 1899, that first day at the circulation gate. It had helped during the strike. Jack’s determined gaze when he convinced the others to join him floats in front of his mind for a second. He can feel his throat tighten slightly. 

Jack isn’t here. He can’t even know if Jack is alive. There is no point of him worrying about this when he can do nothing about the situation. Right?

He just… needs to accept that he is alone in this. 

His jumbled thoughts are suddenly halted as his phone starts to buzz with an incoming call. When he glances at the screen he can feel a pang in his chest. He answers it quickly.  
“Hello?”

“Davey? Can I talk to you?”

A small knot of worry starts to form in David’s stomach. He swallows. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun..?
> 
> Thank you for reading!! If you liked it, leave kudos and comments! Comments are really what makes me excited about posting, so please let me know what part of the chapter you liked and what you think will happen in future chapters.
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The party is in full blow when Race arrives. Music is playing with a base that you can feel in the floor. The whole apartment is semi-dark and crowded with college students mingling, drinking and dancing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta-reader is the best person ever, thank you, ily Lils!!!
> 
> Enjoyyy

The party is in full blow when Race arrives. Music is playing with a base that you can feel in the floor. The whole apartment is semi-dark and crowded with college students mingling, drinking and dancing. A couple is making out in a corner, but Race quickly ignores them when he sees that it’s Blink and Mush. A girl is banging on the bathroom door, shouting at whoever is in there to hurry up. A group of guys are doing shots. Race says hi to the people he knows; a person from one of his classes, Crutchie who is just heading out to get some fresh air, and a girl he dated for a few weeks in freshman year. After a minute of looking around, Race finds Jack in a corner, talking enthusiastically with a young woman. She doesn’t look too impressed by Jack, if her slightly stiff tilt to her head is anything to go by.

“- I don’t think it’s talent, though, that’s the _point_ ,” Jack says, a slight flush on his cheeks. “Everything is a skill, even painting. You can’t wake up one day and be great at dancing, or football, right? So why expect artists to-”

“I know that,” the girl says, smiling kindly and patiently at him. “I was just pointing out that you are a talented artist. I never said you didn’t work hard.” 

Jack nods slowly at her, seemingly satisfied with her answer. She is way out of Jack’s league, Race decides. When he walks up and greets them, she quickly makes an excuse and walks off to find someone else to talk to. 

“So, who was that?” Race asks, elbowing Jack in the stomach. Jack just laughs.

“I think her name was Sarah, she’s a year below us. Pre-med.”

“She seems sweet.”

Jack hums, eyes trailing after Sarah who has disappeared in the small crowd. “She is, but I don’t think we have too much in common. And I probably scared her off when I started talking about painting.”

“You always do, my friend, you always do.” Race smiles at him. “So, what’s up?”

Jack makes a face. “Hating art-school with a burning passion while also loving it more than anything else.”

“The usual, then?”

“Basically.” He grins. “Did I tell you about the art-show at the end of the year?” Race shakes his head. “The teachers pick a couple of people from each class to partake in a special art-exhibit right before christmas.” He shrugs, trying to look casual and failing. “It’s pretty cool, and it would look good on my resumé. It’s probably too difficult for me to get picked, though.”

Race rolls his eyes and lightly punches Jack on his arm. “You can always try, though. You’ve got nothing to lose. You painted anything new lately?”

Jack lights up. “Yeah! A new landscape, you wanna see?”

Race nods and follows Jack to his bedroom which also works as an art-studio. It’s surprisingly spacious for such a cheap apartment, which is why Jack uses it to store his paintings and blank canvases. A window takes up much of the right wall, but the view isn’t much to gawp at - just a backyard filled with trash cans and darkness. Over Jack’s bed, which has been hastily made, hangs a big cork board filled with pictures, sketches, and other sappy things. Race is well aware of the fact that Jack is obsessed with printing out photographs of his friends, and that there are more of them around the apartment. The clatter in the room is pathetically hidden, with dozens of brushes scattered on the floor and tubes of paint quickly pushed under the bed. A couple of newspapers are spread out on the floor, under the easel, to protect the floor from any spilling. A big canvas is resting against the wall, the paint still drying. 

“That’s pretty,” Race says and crouches down to get a better look at the painting.

And it really is. He knows nothing about art, but even he can tell that the colours harmonize together beautifully to create a calming picture of a wild, unforgiving landscape. He gets the impression that the mountains are taunting him, like they are aware of both their allure and of the fact that they are totally unreachable from this room. 

“Is it a real place?” he asks Jack, who nods. He is leaning against his desk with his arms crossed in front of him, tilting his head slightly when he looks at the painting. 

“Yeah. Santa fe.”

Race glances up at him. “Santa fe? Why that place?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve been wanting to go there lately, I have no idea why. They have a pretty good art college, so that’s cool. And, I mean, it’s crazy beautiful, with all the mountains and nice views.”

Race nods slowly and goes back to inspecting the painting a little bit closer. Something is picking on the back of his mind, like a name you’ve forgotten. You know you should know it, because it’s almost like there’s a hole in your brain where you know you should have that specific piece of information. It takes a moment for him to zone back into the conversation, just as Jack motions for them to go back to the party. They leave the room and Jack closes the door behind them. As soon as they are back among other people,  
Race immediately bumps into dancing couples. He tries to stick close to Jack, hoping his slightly bigger body will keep people out of the way.

“- but he said he wasn’t feeling well so he left to get some air,” Jack drones on, not noticing how distracted Race is. “I was worried, but you know Crutchie. He never likes to complain, even at times when he wants to. He said he liked the painting though, so that’s good. He’ll probably be back soon.” Jack leans back against the wall and glances at Race. “But, hey, what about you? You good?” 

Race makes a face back at him. “Give me a couple of beers and the answer will probably be less depressing,” he says and Jack nods with an understanding smile. 

“Don’t tell anyone else, but I have a couple in the fridge you can grab.” He points Race towards the kitchen where people have dropped off their drinks. 

“Nice,” Race says. Then, over the sound of music playing and people singing, he can hear a familiar voice yelling from another part of the room. 

“Hey, Race!”

“Shit!” Race turns around and salutes Jack goodbye, before losing himself in the small crowd of people in the living room. He quickly makes his way through the small dance floor, hoping he is heading in the right direction, but he isn’t fast enough. 

“Race!” Albert grabs a hold of his sleeve. Knowing when he is caught, Race begrudgingly turns around and looks at him. A girl walks past them, almost crashing into them as she does. 

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk?”

Race sighs. “Not in the mood right now, Al.” He is still pissed, to be honest. He and Albert have been best friends for years, but that doesn’t mean Race can’t tell Albert when he is being a dick. And it goes both ways, Albert would call Race out if he was acting stupid as well.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Albert shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said… All that. I was… Well, I am, under a lot of stress.” He smiles, strained. “Man, if you only knew the things that are happening -”

“Well, tell me!” Race interrupts. Albert quickly shakes his head. 

“I can’t-”

Race makes an exasperated gesture with his arms. “Well, honestly? Fuck you, then.”

Then he turns around and goes into the kitchen.

By the time Race returns, now with a chilled can of beer in his hand, more people have arrived. Romeo has wasted no time to drag Specs out on the dance floor, and they seem to be having a really good time. Blink and Mush are standing in a corner, talking to each other and longingly eyeing a group of people on the couch who are passing around a joint. Race nods at them in greeting, and they smile back. Then he suddenly sees a flash of red hair, quickly turns on his heel and moves to the back, hoping to blend in with the wall. He almost walks into a guy who is already standing there. He is just about to apologize, but makes a split-second decision to use the opportunity presented to him. He grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. “Act like you are talking to me.” 

The guy stares at Race. “I’m sorry?”

Race fake-laughs and pats the guy on the shoulder. “ _Hilarious!_ ” He looks around to see if anybody is listening. “I’m in the process of avoiding someone at this party,” he explains, desperately glancing around the room for any sign of Albert. “And you don’t seem to be busy, so...”

The guy raises his eyebrow, still staring at Race without blinking. “Shit, thanks for that.”

Race groans and quickly shakes his head. “Oh fuck, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

The guy snorts, a small smile spreading across his face. “Don’t worry, you’re good.”

He has a thick Brooklyn accent, and _damn_ , Race made a good impulsive choice of what stranger to talk to. He has always been weak for people with accents. Something about the way the words curl around the guy’s lips makes Race want him to keep talking. Something about him sees familiar, as well. 

Race gives him a quick once over while not making it too obvious. The guy is pretty short, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in sheer muscle mass, not to mention the confident air around him that makes it seem like he is taller than he actually is. He is nursing a bottle of cider and has a leather jacket slung over his arm as if he’s ready to leave the apartment at a moments notice. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, but still, he is staring at Race with something like surprise in his eyes. 

“Wait, shit, have we met before?” Race asks. 

The guy clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink. He finally tears his gaze away from Race’s. “Uh, maybe? I stayed at Medda’s for a few months a couple of years ago.” He glances up again. “You’re Race, right?”

“Yeah” he says, holding out his hand. 

“That a nickname?” the guy asks as he accepts the outstretched hand with a small smirk. 

Race shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m Spot. Spot Conlon.”

Spot. Right. The name does ring a bell somewhere in the back of Race’s mind. He whistles. “Wow, do you really think you are in a good position to judge my nickname, Spot? What, did your friends run out of dogs to name?”

Spot laughs. It makes his face look brighter. 

Race decides right away that he likes Spot Conlon laughing. 

“At least I’m not named after a pretty dangerous hobby that leaves you broke and lonely,” Spot says and looks at him challengingly. 

Race gives him a bewildered look. “What, racing?”

There is a beat of silence, when Spot stares at him in confusion. Then he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of betting, uh, on different types of races, I guess? But…. Whatever.”

They meet each other’s gaze, and for a second Spot looks expectantly at Race, as if he’s waiting for him to do something. But then they both break the eye contact.  
“So, Race,” Spot says as he gazes out over the room. “Who are you hiding from? An ex? Jealous girlfriend?” he quickly glances at Race. “Jealous boyfriend?”

Race shakes his head and takes a large gulp of his beer. “My best friend, actually. It’s a long story. But, no, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He meets Spot’s gaze. “Or a boyfriend, for that matter.”

Spot nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

Race laughs and puts a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch, that stung.” 

People mingle all around them as they continue talking. The whole apartment is warm from the large number of students dancing in the living room, so someone has opened a window to let some fresh air in. The music - Jack’s personalized playlists for parties, an excellent mix of soft rock and house - is blasting at a volume that will most likely make the neighbors complain. Not to mention passers-by on the street outside. Race and Spot continue talking for a while, going through the standard questions for when you meet someone at a college party. 

“So, what are you majoring in?” Race asks and leans forward a little bit.

“Engineering,” Spot answers. “You?”

Race hesitates only for a fraction of a second. “Statistics and probability.”

Spot whistles. “Damn, that’s… intense. So, you’re like, a mathgeek?” He shoots a teasing smile to Race, who makes a face in return. 

“When you say it like that it sounds like I should be a part of The Big Bang Theory, so, no.” 

Spot hums in agreement. “Yeah, that ain’t good, is it?”

The party is continuing around them as they stand there. As he gazes across the room, Race can see that Romeo has dragged Mush up on the dancefloor, leaving Blink and Specs on the couch, both trying to not look jealous. 

“Those your friends?” Spot asks, following Race’s look. 

“Yeah,” Race says, and scoots a little bit closer to Spot. “Those two who are pining on the couch? Blink and Specs. Though Blink is actually dating Mush, so I guess that’s not really pining.”

Spot snorts. “Oh, believe me, you can pine after someone you are involved with.”

Something in the air shifts slightly at that comment, and Race gives him a look before continuing. 

“Yeah, anyway… Um, Specs, on the other hand? He just needs to admit that he likes Romeo, I think.” 

Spot chokes slightly on his drink and looks at Race, laughing. “Shit, Race, you like to gossip, don’t you? Going around, spilling your friend’s secrets like that.” 

A short laugh escapes Race and he nods. “Absolutely, I’m a huge gossip.”

They look at each other for a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing once again. Something in Race’s chest is warm. It feels like his whole body is reaching out to Spot, wanting to be close, without Race not even realizing what it’s doing. He feels jittery with restless energy, and shifts a bit. They are standing very close to each other, he suddenly notices. Somehow they have both moved subconsciously during the conversation and are now standing almost pressed up against each other. Race looks away quickly. “So,” he starts and then takes another sip of his beer. The can is almost empty by now. “Uh, you lived with Jack?”

“Yeah, in the same foster home. It was only for a few months, though, before I had to leave.”

Now that Spot mentions it, Race does remember Jack talking about this guy staying with them, just before graduation. None of them had gotten a chance to meet him, before he left. But Jack had gone on about how reclusive and angry that guy had been. Could that really have been the same guy standing beside Race right now? It seems almost unlikely.  
Something in Race wants to ask why Spot left, even though he knows it’s none of his business. Race was in a couple of theatre productions that Medda directed at their high school. She’s wonderful, and Jack adores her more than anything else. Why someone would willingly leave a home like that is beyond Race’s imagination. But, he decides to stay quiet. Because Spot is a literal stranger, even if it doesn’t feel that way when they talk. And you don’t ask a stranger deeply personal questions like- 

“You can ask why I left, if you want.”

Oh. 

“What?” Race tries to go for a mildly surprised face, but fails, if Spot’s unimpressed look is anything to go by.

“I can see you wanna ask,” he says, slightly nudging Race in the side. Race can feel his face heating up, but he doesn’t know if it’s because of the topic of conversation, the alcohol, or because Spot just touched him.

“Okay,” Race rises to the bait. “Why did you leave?” 

Spot ponders it for a moment.

“I ran away, actually. Medda’s great, we still keep in touch, but I…” He glances at Race, a little hesitant, but continues. “Well, I wasn’t in a good place, mentally, and I was worried I was just a burden to her and her family. I was eighteen, it was just a few months until I was going away for college anyway, so…”

Race is quiet. Spot doesn’t look too bothered, in fact he looks almost relieved. But Race suddenly feels deeply uncomfortable when he looks down at the floor. 

“That’s not really something you tell a complete stranger, Spot,” Race says, his voice surprisingly soft despite his mind telling him to leave right now. Spot quickly glances up at Race. 

“Oh. Shit. It’s.... really not, huh.” He looks down at his shoes and then up again. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t know, but I guess it feels like I… Uh, already know you, for some reason?”

They stare at each other for a moment that’s too long. Then Race smiles, but it feels slightly forced. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, man. Uh, I need another drink.”

He leaves Spot in the corner. Spot rubs his temples sightly, sighs and looks around the room. Without any sort of warning a large body almost crashes into him when it slides to a stop next to him.

“Hey, Spot,” Jack says casually, as if he hadn’t literally run into him. “I see you met Race?”

Spot glances at the retreating back of Race. “Yeah, I guess I did.” 

Jack continues talking, but Spot doesn’t really pay attention to him. He continues looking through the crowd of people, trying to see if he can see where Race went. Race, who is too busy dodging dancing couples and trying to make his way to the kitchen to remember that he was actively avoiding someone. 

“Race!”

Albert is right behind him. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Race mutters again and walks a little faster, bumping into people in the hallway as he does. 

“Race, hey!”

When he has arrived into the kitchen which is - thankfully - empty, Race realizes that he has nowhere else to run. He stops with a sigh and turns around begrudgingly. “Hi, Albert.”

At first glance, Albert looks sober, which is strange in itself. But after closer inspection, Race can clearly see what he’s been doing during the time Race was avoiding him. 

“Dude, are you high?”

Albert rolls his eyes. “No, no I’m not. Mush and Blink, _they_ are high. I only took one hit. Maybe two.”

“Okay,” Race can’t help the grin on his face. Damn high Albert making him forget he’s angry. “Where _are_ Blink and Mush? They would want to film this.”

Albert gestures wildly with his hands in the general direction of the bathroom. “I told you, they’re getting high. Or making out. I don’t know. But I’m not high. Why would I be high?  
That’s crazy.”

“Al-”

“You know what else is crazy?” Albert shakes his head, grinning. “History! History is fucking crazy, man. Did you know?”

Race tries his hardest to keep his face neutral. “I’m aware.” He glances over Albert’s shoulder into the hallway, to see if Spot is following him. A part of him wants him to, while another part of him wants him to keep his distance. But the only people nearby are a couple aggressively making out against the front door. 

Albert nods seriously, not taking note of how distracted Race is. “I think we were wrong to tease Romeo about loving history.” 

“Well, shit, don’t let anyone else hear you say that.”

Albert throws and arm over Race’s shoulders. “He helped me find out stuff about my old life, you know?”

“Your old life?”

“Yeah! In 18… uh.” Albert looks down and counts on his fingers. “1890…. 1890-something.”

Race sighs. “Okay, Al. Sit down.”

Race and Albert have known each other for years, they have been best friends since kindergarten. They grew up together, and had lots of first experiences with each other. Those experiences include getting drunk and getting high for the first time. Not necessarily at different occasions, mind you. Having these experiences with each other, they are very aware of how they act like when they are drunk or, as in this case, high. Race is a lightweight, even though he usually refuses to admit it, but over the years he has carefully noted how much water he needs to drink between drinks to achieve the best level of drunkenness without passing out. He’s a very sloppy drunk, and loves to get attention, no matter if it’s from his friends, a lover, or a complete stranger. 

Albert, on the other hand, gets weirdly competitive when really drunk, which usually results in him and Specs having very intense staring contests (“He’s cheating, Race! He has glasses!” “How does that help you win a staring contest, Albert?”) or him making people dare him stupid things. At a party last spring he had bench pressed Romeo, after making the others dare him. (“I dare you guys to dare me to bench press Romeo!”) Romeo had found it hilarious.

When they get high, however, they are more often than not more serious than usual, even if the subjects they talk about aren’t always so serious. Most of Race’s memories of getting high with Albert is them sitting and discussing how likely it is that aliens exist, but that the government is hiding them.

Albert does sit down, leaning his back against the oven that is, luckily, turned off. Race follows him down to the floor. Albert is staring at him. 

“What?”

“Why are you talking to me? You told me to fuck off.”

Race shrugs. “I tell you to fuck off all the time, Al. Grow a thicker skin, will you?”

Albert snorts and points accusingly at Race before bopping Race lightly on the nose. “Mean. That’s mean.”

“You’ve been drinking as well, haven’t you?”

Albert shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. They sit in silence for a few minutes, both deep in thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Albert says at last and leans his head back, closing his eyes. He sighs like all the world’s problems are resting on his shoulders. 

Race only nods. “It’s okay, I guess. I’m not done with you, though, I’ll ask you what’s going on tomorrow again.”

Albert nods. “That’s fair.” He looks surprisingly somber when he focuses his gaze on Race. “You are one of my oldest, oldest friends. You know that?”

Race has a small smile on his face when he nods. “Yeah, Al, I know.”

Albert nods seriously. “Good.” He stares into space for a moment. His brow is furrowed, as if he’s not in the kitchen at all, but somewhere far away. He shakes his head slightly before muttering: “So old…”

They fall silent again. They only move when Jack walks into the kitchen. 

“There you are!” he says, quickly dragging Race up to his feet. “Holy shit, dude, what the fuck is up with you and Spot?” He is carrying a plastic cup with an unidentifiable substance in it, but he doesn’t seem too drunk as he grabs a firm hold of Race’s arm.

Race furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Jack makes a grimace. “Well, I saw you two talking, and he… uh, he told me what he said to you.”

Race can feel a headache coming on, and he groans slightly. “Jesus christ, okay. Yeah, it was weird as fuck. How was I _supposed_ to react?”

“I know, and trust me, Spot knows it, too. And… I mean, he wouldn’t say anything, but I could tell he was a bit upset about scaring you off.”

He raises his eyebrows at Race as if to get a message across, but Race only stares. “What?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I was just very… ah… surprised - yeah, let’s go with that - when I heard that he told you what he told you. I mean, he doesn’t usually act like this.”

Race still doesn’t understand. Maybe Jack has been drinking too much, because he is really not making any sense. “I don’t know Spot, how should I know if he was acting weird? Tonight was the first time I met him.”

Albert snorts at that - still sitting on the floor - but neither Jack nor Race pay him any attention. 

“Spot is really not a… uh, social person. He doesn’t trust people, you know?”

Race shrugs. “Okay?” 

Jack stares at him with something little short of amazement. “He _talked_ to you! It’s so strange seeing him actually open up to someone, especially someone who’s a complete stranger to him. It just doesn’t happen, not with Spot.”

Race stares. “So, what you’re saying is…” Jack punches him on the arm. “Ow!”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, man,” he says. “But I think… I mean, you did like him, didn’t you?” He grins slyly, bumping Race with his shoulder. 

Race makes an exasperated sound. “I’ve only known him for twenty minutes!” he protests. “I don’t even know his last name, jesus christ.” That’s a lie, he does know it. Conlon. Spot Conlon. 

“Come on, man.” Jack gestures towards himself. “It’s me you’re talking to. You can be attracted to someone who you just met, _believe_ me.”

Albert hums in agreement from the floor, still staring ahead with a slightly unfocused gaze. “Get your man, man. Life is too short.”

Jack looks down at the boy on the floor and makes a low whistle. “Okay, I’ll take care of this one, don’t worry about that.” He looks up at Race again. “Talk to him? He looked like a kicked puppy when I left him.”

Race scoffs slightly. “I…” then he stops and rolls his eyes. “Fine, sure. But only because Spot... he’s… “ Race works his jaw slightly. “And not because you…” He gestures at Jack - who is grinning - and then groans in frustration before leaving the kitchen. 

He finds Spot sitting in an armchair, talking to Specs of all people. Race can’t hear what they’re saying until he is right beside them.

“Yeah,” Spot says. “You’re right. But that still doesn’t take into account the emotional turmoil of reading about your favorite character dying, does it? Like, honestly, I respect you a lot, but fuck authors who kill their characters just for the sake of being seen as daring or whatever.”

Oh, my god. Spot is a _nerd_. Race can’t fucking believe this. That guy, Mr. Muscles and Leather Jackets? 

Specs laughs and nods in agreement to what Spot said, but doesn’t have time to answer before he sees Race and raises his glass in greeting. Spot glances behind him, and his smile slips off his face when his gaze meets Race’s. 

“Oh, hi,” he says. Race smiles at him, trying not to act as awkward as he’s feeling.

“I was just getting a drink and you find a new conversation partner? You wound me, Spotty,” he says.

A surprised and a bit of a hesitant smile is forming on Spot’s lips. “You were gone for a while, man. Can’t keep a guy waiting like that, it’s bad manners.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to insult a five foot-something dork. Maybe you’ll punch me in the face.”

Specs is already gone from the couch, probably off to find Romeo. Race sits down in his place. “I’m sorry for running off.” 

Spot shrugs. “I’m sorry for scaring you off.”

There is a beat of hesitation, before Race opens his mouth. “That thing you said…” 

What is he _doing_? Ah, he’s already doing it, fuck it. 

“...Uh, about you feeling like you already know me?”

Spot stares at him in silence for a couple of seconds. He looks intently at Race’s face, almost like he’s trying to read his mind. After a moment, he hesitantly say: “...Race?” 

Race sighs and gives in, making frustrated hand gestures. “I don’t know why, but I, uh, kind of feel the same.”

There is something that almost looks like disappointment flying over Spot’s face, but it only takes a second and then it’s replaced with a slow grin. Race can feel his stomach twist, but not in an unpleasant way. He looks down and realizes that Spot’s fingers and his own are an inch from each other. He is suddenly hit with an urge to lace them together, just to see how well they’d fit, if at all. 

Spot downs the rest of his drink, and puts the bottle down on the table. “Wanna get out of here?”

Race nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot is my boy. Love that man. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING please leave kudos and COMMENTS letting me know what you think!!
> 
> Come and yell about newsies with me on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The sun is shining in through the window when Race wakes up the next day. The light stings his eyes and he blinks sleepily to find something to focus on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments I've gotten!!

The sun is shining in through the window when Race wakes up the next day. He forgot to pull the curtains down, of course. The light stings his eyes and he blinks sleepily to find something to focus on. His head is pounding uncomfortably, which is just… Not cool. It’s one thing to be hungover when you’ve been drinking a lot, but he had like, what, one beer last night? And still, he feels like someone is attacking his forehead with a pickaxe. 

He groans slightly and shifts in the bed. In the back of his mind he is wondering what time it is, and if there is any point in trying to fall asleep again or if he should get up and get something to eat. Then he rolls over and comes face to face with a sleeping Spot Conlon, and his mind forgets about such trivial matters as breakfast.

Now, Race isn’t much for reading, but he has sisters who - when they were all growing up - read a lot of romantic Young Adult-novels. Something he learned during that phase in his home was that, in books, you always read about how people look younger when they are sleeping. Spot doesn’t look younger. He just looks… neutral. Calm. Like nothing can hurt him as long as he just remains in this blissfully oblivious state he is in right now. Race can see a shadow of a stubble on his chin… and then his eyelashes flutter the tiniest bit, as if he’s waking up. 

Oh, shit, he’s waking up.

Race quickly turns again, not wanting to get caught staring at his hook-up sleeping. That would have been awkward to explain. He can feel the mattress shift as Spot pulls the covers tighter around himself and sighs tiredly. Race glances back at him. Spot is blinking sleepily, trying to focus his gaze.

“Mornin’.” His voice is raspy, and Race is actually going to die. That’s it, goodbye everybody. See you in hell. His tombstone will say _“Anthony Higgins. Loved son, brother, and friend. Died because he was too gay for Spot Conlon’s morning voice.”_

“Hi!” Race says with an embarrassingly squeaky voice and sits up. “Good morning. Or, good day, I guess. What time is it?”

Spot hums and grabs his phone from the nightstand. Race tries to ignore how the covers don’t really cover much at all, but fails miserably. 

“About twelve,” Spot answers, and glances at Race. “You have somewhere to be, or…?” His voice trails off, and he looks almost a bit disappointed. Race’s stomach is doing flips like a cheerleader squad, and his heart is the conductor of the marching band who is a little too early on every beat. 

“No! No, not at all!” Damn, he is really not doing a good job at being casual, is he? “Uh, I was just… uh, well. Wondering. What time it was.”

Spot nods and stretches a bit, groaning as he does. 

Race is weirdly proud of the bruises on Spot’s chest. It’s like, heck yeah, he _did_ that. He would compare it to the satisfaction Jack gets from finishing a painting, but he isn’t sure his friend would appreciate that. 

Spot turns towards Race, settling down against his pillows again. “Uh…” he begins. 

Race’s heart is beating way faster than it should. Is he feeling nauseous? 

“Last night…” Spot continues, looking slightly nervous himself. 

Race nods to urge him on. “Yeah?”

But before Spot can continue, Race is hit with a strong wave of migraine, making his vision go blurry in the edges. Spot is floating in and out of focus in front of him, and sharp noises flood his brain. Sounds of people shouting, and horses neighing in the distance.

_“Hey, Higgins!”_

_The rumble of a carriage passes and Race can make out Spot Conlon standing among the dust. He doesn’t look too happy, but Race can’t really find it in himself to care. So what if Spot Conlon is mad at him? Race can handle him. It would still have been worth coming to Brooklyn for the day. The Sheepshead’s regulars know who Race is, which means they trust him. After all, he’s been coming here for years, ever since he started making his own money - which was way too early. This means that the regulars like him, and Race has noticed that people who like you are more willing to give you money. And when Race sells more papes, he is happier, and more full, and has more money to actually spend at the betting pool, which makes the owner of Sheepshead’s happier as well. Everybody’s a winner. Except for the horses, the poor devils. And - if he takes the grim look on his face into account - Spot Conlon._

_Race holds up his pape high in the air, pointedly ignoring Spot. “Extra, extra! Family under flight after vicious attack!”_

_Spot waits patiently until Race has sold the pape to a gentleman in a green suit before walking up to him._

_“Good mornin’, Spot,” Race greets, because even if he’s not scared of Spot Conlon he ain’t stupid, and if Spot is anything like people says he is, he’s probably got ten kids watching the two of them right now, waiting for his signal to soak Race. Greeting the leader of Brooklyn is the only polite thing to do. “Here to visit little ol’ me, one of the big bugs like yourself?”_

_Spot doesn’t look at Race, but instead inspects the headline on the papes he is carrying._

_“It was a very good morning,” Spot agrees, ignoring the second half of Race’s speech. “Until I got news ‘bout a ‘hattan selling on my turf. Got anything to say about that, Higgins?”_

_Race grins and blinks at Spot. “Nah, I don’t, sorry Spotty. But, hey, if I hear anything Imma let you know, alright?” He can feel how he’s getting under Spot’s skin, and he loves every second of it._

_“Look,” Spot says, his jaw working hard. “You know that I know that you’s Jack’s second. Alright?”_

_Race just looks at him, not very impressed. Jack’s second? Manhattan ain’t got seconds. They technically ain’t even got a leader. But of course, every newsie in New York knows it’s Jack - no matter technicalities._

_“- So I ain’t here to soak ya’.” Spot finishes, looking rather unhappy with this decision._

_Race raises his eyebrows. That is a bit of a surprise. “Really?”_

_Spot looks Race up and down, taking in his too small pants and dirty shirt. Then he shakes his head, as if he’s made up his mind. “You ain’t worth making war with Manhattan over, Higgins.”_

_Another smirk flashes across Race’s face. “Spot, you flatter me.”_

_Spot glances around to see if anybody is listening, then pokes Race in the chest. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes Spot’s point come across clearly: Lay off._

_“Imma let you sell here as long as you keep out of trouble, you got me?” he says slowly, as if he’s worried Race won’t keep up if he speaks at a normal pace.  
Race looks at him with a slightly surprised look on his face. “Why?” The joking tone is gone from his voice; he is actually curious. _

_They glare at each other in silence for a couple of seconds. Something between them is left unsaid, as if they’re both daring the other to put it into words. Race isn’t even sure what it is, but something makes him scared to ask._

_Finally Spot breaks the eye contact. He grabs the pape from Race’s hand and throws him a penny in exchange. “Like I said,” he says gruffly and begins walking away backwards. “You ain’t worth the trouble, Racetrack.”_

_He turns around and leaves Race alone, staring at the penny and then at the boy quickly disappearing into the crowd of people._

The sounds of old time New York is still ringing in Race’s mind, even when he is laying in front of Spot again. 

“Last night was really - hey what the fuck?”

Race is out of the bed almost as quickly as he got into it the night before. He is pretty sure he accidentally hits Spot as he jumps up, but he doesn’t stop to apologize. He runs into the bathroom as fast as he can and only reaches the toilet just in time. He can just make out Spot swearing over the ringing in his ear, and he groans and slides down onto the floor. The cool tiles almost burning his naked skin.

“Race? Race!”

With shaking limbs, he rises from the floor and grabs a hold of the sink. He flushes the toilet, then lets the water run and splashes some of it in his face before quickly rinsing his mouth. Jumbled images are flashing through his mind, making him feel dizzy and even more nauseous. It takes a full minute for him to stop shaking enough to take note of anything happening around him.

Spot is still standing behind him. Race is suddenly very aware of his own nakedness, which is a bit bizarre given what they both had been doing the night before. He crosses his arms, both to cover his chest and to stop himself from shivering violently.

“Race, you okay?”

Race glances in the mirror and sees Spot standing behind him, too far away to touch but still close enough to see clearly. He looks worried. He looks confused. He… 

He looks just the same. 

Different haircut, and no hat, but… the same frown lines around his mouth, the same furrowed brow, the same dark, deeply set eyes framed by long lashes. He takes a small, tentative step forward and puts a hand on Race’s shoulder. The touch sends a small shock through Race, and that is the last thing needed for him to spring back to life. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles and pushes past Spot, leaving the bathroom. He grabs his clothes that are strewn across the floor and begins dressing himself in a very distracted fashion. His binder is laying on the floor, where he discarded it before they fell asleep the night before. He picks it up and stuffs it into his pocket. 

“Hey hey hey, no, what?” Spot tries to make Race slow down. “Race, come on, you’re not feeling well. Sit down.”

Race shakes his head decidedly, not meeting Spot’s gaze. Something about this whole situation reminds him of a couple of weeks ago, with Albert. His mouth goes dry when he manages to put two and two together, and he feels like hitting himself over the head. It all makes sense, finally.

Spot is still staring at him, but Race ignores him and insteads buttons his shirt which is turned inside out. He decides he doesn’t have the time to fix it, however, so he grabs his jacket from a chair instead. “I’m fine, I… I’m sorry, I…” He finally meets Spot’s eyes and can tell that he’s confused and a bit hurt. Race shakes his head fervently. “I need to talk to… It doesn’t matter, but, I, uh…” 

The room is quiet. Race swallows. Spot is not saying anything either, only stares. Race only manages to give him an apologetic look before dashing out of the apartment. 

*

Romeo wakes up with a jolt. He is confused and still half asleep, looking around the room and trying to find the source of his disturbance. It’s light outside, the curtains not completely blocking the sun’s rays. His gaze lands on his phone, which is buzzing. 

_ALBERT calling._

“....Uh, hi…?” Romeo says, voice still rough from sleep. He rubs his eyes. Damn Albert, waking him up this early. They had gotten home way too late last night; and now he doesn’t even get the chance to nurse his hangover in peace? What is this?

“Romeo, how fast can you get here?” Albert’s voice sounds rushed and distracted. Romeo sits up a little straighter. Suddenly he feels more awake. All thoughts of sleep are immediately gone. 

“I’d say ten minutes-ish? What’s wrong?” He’s already looking around the room for his pants. 

“It’s Race. He’s… he’s not well.”

The implications of the statement as well as Albert’s actually worried tone makes Romeo halt for a second. “Shit. Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hangs up and dashes up to get his sneakers. In his rush, he almost forgets the fact that he has a roommate. A roommate who, no matter how understanding he usually is, doesn’t enjoy being woken up by a frantic Romeo.

“What are you doing?” Specs asks, slowly sitting up in his bed. His whole posture shows that he just woke up, and he is squinting at Romeo before reaching for his glasses on the desk beside his bed. Romeo is dashing around the room, looking for his keys and pulling on his jacket at the same time. His hair is standing on edge, and his whole mouth feels like something died in it, but he doesn’t stop to make himself more presentable. His slight hangover joins forces with his empty stomach and makes him feel a bit sick. His whole body is disagreeing with this amount of stress so early in the day. 

“I’m going over to Albert. Where are my fucking keys? I can’t find them, and I needs to be there right now. Why don’t we got a car, Specs? A car would be fine right about now! Am I hyperventilating?”

“Why are you so stressed? _Hey_ , Ro.” Specs climbs out of bed and grabs hold of Romeo’s arms, stopping him effectively. “Slow down. Please. Your keys are in your other jacket, you were wearing it yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Romeo swallows and tries to avoid Specs’ gaze. He fails, hard. Specs looks concerned. Romeo shakes his head miserably and he can see his face fall a little bit.

“I’m sorry.” his voice sounds weak, even to his own ears. 

After a moment Specs sighs and lets go of his arm. “Okay,” he simply says. “But you call me if you need anything, if I can help in any way. All right? I mean that.”

Romeo looks at him for a moment before pulling him into a hard hug. He can feel Specs’s heartbeat, and the warmth emitting from him calms him down a little bit. Romeo has his face pressed into Specs’ shirt, and he slowly breathes in the scent of his friend.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his neck. Specs holds him a little bit closer. 

“Anytime, Ro. You know that.” 

Romeo pulls away, looking a bit sheepishly at Specs. “Uh, what are you gonna do the rest of the day, then?”

Specs shrugs with a small smile. “I have studying to do. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find something.”

Romeo leaves the apartment and Specs sits down on his bed again with a sigh.

When Romeo does arrive at Albert’s apartment, he is out of breath and carrying a large bag of the worst junk food he could find on his budget. That includes four cheeseburgers from McDonalds - he ate one already - and a family-size bag of dorito chips. The door opens only seconds after he knocks. Albert’s face floods with relief and he drags Romeo inside without saying hello.

“Where is he?” Romeo asks and kicks off his shoes.

“In the bedroom,” Albert says. 

His posture tells Romeo how anxious he is; hunched shoulders, arms crossed as if to protect himself. It is very unlike Albert, and only makes Romeo’s own panic grow. Albert slowly creeps up to the door which is slightly ajar, and knocks on the doorframe. “Race? Romeo’s here.” His voice is very soft. 

Romeo hands Albert the bag of snacks and slowly peeks his head into the bedroom. It’s a tiny room, with only a queen sized bed and small dresser fitted inside. The fact that the blinds are closed and that the lights are off makes the room seem even smaller. 

“Race?”

The figure in the bed moves slightly, letting Romeo know he’s alive. Romeo slowly walks up to the bed and sits down on it. He can only see the top of Race’s head, his messy curls sticking up from underneath the blankets. 

Romeo glances back at Albert, who is standing in the doorway watching them. “How long has he been here? Is he still wearing his binder?”

Albert shakes his head. “He never had it on, it’s in his jacket. He came here about thirty minutes ago.”

“Has he said anything?”

Albert looks down at the floor, avoiding facing his best friend under the blanket. “Not much, to be honest. Just enough to make me realize that he…” He stops, looking a little helpless.

Romeo nods slowly, and turns back to the Race-shaped lump in the bed. 

“Hey, darling? Race?” Romeo tries to sound calm and collected, while he feels like screaming inside. Why is he the one here, instead of Mush, or even Blink? Why is he the one trying to help Race? Romeo was the last of them to remember, after all. He’s the one who has least experience with all of this.

“I would have called Jack,” Albert mutters, as if reading Romeo’s mind. “But, given the circumstances… There would have been questions. And Mush and Blink didn’t pick up.” 

Suddenly, Race moves. He shifts so that he is facing the others, and his face comes into view. Romeo fights to keep his face neutral when he sees the slightly red eyes and puffy cheeks. 

“Jack?” Race’s voice is low and slightly broken, as if he hasn’t been using it for awhile. 

Romeo puts a hand on his leg, rubbing it in what he hopes is a soothing manner. “What about Jack, sweetie?”

Race glances from Romeo to Albert. “He… he doesn’t…?”

They both shake their head. Romeo makes a slight face. “No. I’m sorry.”

Race stares into the wall without saying anything for a few moments. 

“Race, darling…?” Romeo tries.

Race mumbles something under his breath. 

“What’s that?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

Romeo sighs. “Okay. Uh, do you want to be alone or..?”

Race quickly grabs Romeo’s hand and shakes his head vigorously. He is holding on tightly, as if afraid that Romeo will suddenly disappear if he lets go. “No, please. Stay.”

Romeo glances back at Albert and then nods. “Okay. Scooch.” 

Race moves, making way for Romeo to wiggle into the space between him and the wall. Albert, after a second of hesitation, climbs in on Race’s other side. The bed is actually way too small to fit three grown men into it, but they make do with what they have, their bodies tightly pressed against each other. Romeo grabs Race’s hand again, and holds it tightly. Race is mindlessly fiddling with his fingers, his eyes glazed over. The presence of two warm bodies beside him helps ground him, and after only a few minutes he drifts off to the sound of his friends talking to him in hushed voices. 

When he wakes the next time, he is alone in the bed, and it’s getting dark outside. How long has he been asleep? His whole body feels like it has been hit by a truck; his mouth is dry and his lungs feel slightly raw as if he has been coughing for a week straight.

He slowly sits up and looks around the room. He isn’t usually at Albert’s place, they are more often at Race’s dorm room since he has a TV and it’s closer to campus. It also means that Albert’s bedroom is somewhat uncharted territory. His gaze trails over the dark room, and falls on the dresser next to the bed. It’s covered in notebooks and papers. At first glance, Race assumes it’s things for class, but when he looks a little bit closer, he sees his own name pop up. He climbs out of the bed and leans down to look over to the notes. The general darkness in the room makes it difficult to read, so he picks them up. Mostly it’s mindmaps written in Albert’s sloppy writing, connecting different moments to each other and pointing out important bits of information. On top of the first paper, the title is simply 1899. There are only simple words written out there. _Papes, headlines, food, no shoes._ The second is named The strike. When Race reads it, he gets weird flashing memories to accompany the words. _Bulls, fighting, the refuge, Jack gone._ The third is Lodging house. On that one, most of the paper is filled out with names. _Specs, JoJo, Crutchie, Elmer, Henry…_

Race closes his eyes, forcing the burning in his throat to go away. 

The sound of voices can be heard from outside the room, so Race puts down the notes and takes a deep breath before opening the door. The sudden brightness of the other room makes him blink. Romeo and Albert are sitting at the small table in the kitchen-area, talking to each other in hushed voices. 

“-so I’m a bit worried he’s working too hard.”

Albert shrugs and puts his head down on the table. “Come on, man, Specs knows what he’s doing.”

Race can see that Romeo rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve known him since high school, after all. But it’s just-”

He stops mid-sentence when he notices Race. His slightly troubled gaze shifts into a smile and he gestures at the third chair. Albert looks up at this. “Good nap?” he asks. 

Race shrugs. “It would’ve been better if I had woken up and realized everything had been a bad dream,” he mutters and sinks down onto the chair. His whole body is protesting every movement, as if he’s been working out the day before. Without a word, Albert slides a cheeseburger over to Race. A dull ache in Race’s stomach reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t eaten today, and he gratefully takes a bite. It’s cold, but he is too hungry to care.

“So…” he says as he slowly chews, and both Albert and Romeo sit up a little straighter. “This… situation, we’re in. Uh, why? Are we in it?”

Romeo glances at Albert and shrugs. “We don’t know. We don’t know what happened, why we remember, or why we seem to be the only ones that do. It… it seems to happen at random. Something just… triggers it.” He stops, not pointing out the underlying question in that statement. 

Race doesn’t answer but simply stares at the wall for a moment, deep in thought. He thinks about that morning, lying next to Spot one moment and then suddenly having all these images and memories in his head. Spot’s face, which had been both worried and shocked, but also something else… Something Race can’t place.

“Who else remembers?” he asks and forces himself to think about anything besides Spot Conlon.

“Mush and Blink.” Albert glances at his phone which is placed on the table in front of him. “I called them, before, so they know about…” He gestures at Race. “They said they’d call you in a couple of days, but figured you wouldn’t want to be crowded.”

Race nods slowly. “Davey?” The others shake their heads. Race’s stomach sinks. “How’s about Katherine? Elmer? JoJo? Smalls? None of them?”

“We’ve tried to find them,” Romeo says, a bit defensive. “Through social media, and things like that. But… It ain’t so easy.”

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, all of them deep in thought. The sky outside is completely dark by now, but Race can see no stars when he looks out through the small kitchen window. A memory of him walking home late at night surfaces in his mind. But then, the stars were glittering in the sky, making everything look false and magical. His feet had been sore after walking. He’d been on his last cigar, and wondered absentmindedly to himself if he would have been able to afford to buy new ones if he hadn’t been betting that day. Probably. But, he had figured, there is no use trying to change the past. It has already happened, and there is nothing he can do about it. Look forwards, he had told himself, as he was making his way down Duane Street to the lodging house, the darkness wrapping itself around him like a dark blanket.

Looking forward had been the easiest way to live life back then. Was it the same now? Maybe not. A lot of things were different. But, Race thinks as they sit around the table talking in hushed voices, maybe looking forward was the best way to go from here. 

They go through their old lives, allowing themselves to bask in nostalgia for a few moments. It might be the only way to keep them all sane when the memories come back, reminding them of everything that had once been but no longer was. 

* 

Crutchie sits down at the small table and leans his crutch against the chair next to him. The coffeeshop is almost empty. It’s dark outside, making it impossible to see anything when he glances out of the big windows. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he says. His mouth is dry, and when he looks down he can see that his hands are shaking slightly. A cup of coffee is placed in front of him, but he doesn’t trust himself to not drop it so he lets it be. “I… I don’t really know who else to talk to, to be honest.”

He tries for his usual smile, but it turns sour. 

“Of course. I mean… I know what you’re going through, right?”

Crutchie nods tightly.

“Start from the beginning,” Davey says with a calming smile. 

Crutchie takes a deep breath, and does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Kudos and comments make my dayyyy
> 
> Say hi on tumbl! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo tries to get Specs to relax, Mush and Blink talk, and Race gets a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaa thank you so much for all the comments!!!<3

Walking back from class one day, Specs’s phone lights up. 

**To Specs from Romeo, 17:07:**  
_wanna grab dinner on the way home?i’m craving chinese!! we can watch a movie_

**To Romeo from Specs, 17:07:**  
_Admit it, you’re only friends with me because I buy you food_

**To Specs from Romeo, 17:08:**  
_i will admit to NO such thing_

**To Specs from Romeo, 17:08:**  
_so is that a no on chinese and movie orrr?_

**To Romeo from Specs, 17:10:**  
_I never said that. I need to study though, so no movie tonight_

**To Specs from Romeo, 17.10:**  
_boooo. come on spex we can even watch one of your favorite movies even tho theyre historically inaccurate and stupid_

**To Romeo from Specs, 17.11:**  
_Wow well when you put it like that. The usual?_

**To Specs from Romeo, 17:12**  
_I LOVE YOU. yes._

When he opens the door to their dorm room thirty minutes later, Romeo is sitting on his bed in pyjamas and laptop set up. 

“Oh my gosh, Specs, you are actually my favorite person in the entire world.”

A faint blush spreads over Specs’s face. Romeo jumps up and gives him a brisk hug, which Specs barely has time to reciprocate before Romeo is pulling away and taking the bag of food with him. 

“I have Captain America set up,” he says as he’s pulling out forks for them.

“Really?” Specs glances at the laptop where, sure enough, _Captain America: The First Avenger_ is ready to go. Romeo doesn’t even like Marvel that much. “Uh, Ro, I’m sorry, but I do have some studying -”

“No!” Romeo turns on Specs with an unexpected intensity. “ _No_ , you need to relax. You’ve been studying every night for weeks now. One night off won’t kill you.”

“I have an assignment that’s due for -”

“Specs.” Romeo sighs. “Please? Let me do this for you. I’ll even watch your stupid movie without pointing out the incorrect history.”

Specs looks at Romeo’s sincere face and sighs. As if he is ever able to say no to him. “Fine, I’ll watch the first hour, if you let me study after.”

Romeo grins and nods, and grabs his extra blanket before settling down in Specs’ bed with his food. Specs sits down next to him and they start the movie. It only takes until Dr Erskines’ first appearance before Specs has fallen asleep, his head fallen back against the wall and the box of chinese food balanced on his lap. Romeo smiles softly at him and lowers the volume of the movie a bit before continuing watching. 

It takes until the end credits start for Specs to stir and wake up. 

“Oh, what time is it?” he asks and sits up. Romeo smiles at his sleepy face. 

“About eight. You still have time to study, don’t worry.”

Specs relaxes against the pillows and nods. “Yeah. Good. He glances at the computer screen and then at Romeo. “Did you actually watch the whole thing?”

Romeo shrugs. “I didn’t have anything else to do, so I figured: why not?”

Specs stares at him for a moment before shrugging and rising from the bed. 

“So,” Romeo says, following him. “What’s the assignment you’re working on?”

“Oh, uh, it’s about gender inequality in the workplace.”

“Cool.” Romeo sits down on his own bed as Specs pulls out notes and his computer and sits down at their shared desk. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty interesting.” Specs stretches a bit and Romeo pointedly doesn’t look at his stomach as his shirt rides up a tiny bit. Instead he focuses on the desk. Specs has a picture of him and Romeo as his screensaver on his laptop, which definitely does no makes Romeo smile stupidly. He also has a binder filled with notes and references to use in his assignment. 

“What’s that?” Romeo says and reaches after what looks like a pape. 

“School paper,” Specs says without looking at Romeo. “I’m using an article in there as reference.”

“Really?” Romeo frowns and flips through the pape. “They let you use student-written articles as reference?”

“Not usually, but I asked my lector and she said it was fine. She let is slide because apparently this girl is an amazing author and, I quote, ‘has real potential’. I mean, she backs up my thesis perfectly, so I’m not complaining.”

Romeo hums and throws the pape on the desk again. “I guess I should do some work, as well.” 

Specs doesn’t answer him. Romeo pouts at this lack of attention. 

“Stop pouting. Play by yourself.”

Romeo pouts even more. 

Specs looks at him, unimpressed. “I swear, Ro, get to work or get out.”

Romeo whistles. “Feisty.” But he does reach for his backpack and picks up one of his textbooks. 

They fall into the comfortable silence that can only occur between two people who have known each other for a long time and are perfectly happy just spending time with each other.

A little bit earlier that evening, Blink knocks on the door of his boyfriend’s dorm room.

“Mush? Sweetheart?”

He knocks once again, and finally the door swings open to reveal Mush. He’s still dressed in pyjamas despite the fact that it’s pretty late in the afternoon, and is talking on the phone when he gestures for Blink to come in. Blink presses a small kiss on Mush’s cheek before pulling off his sneakers.

“-of course. Yeah. I know how you feel, Race, believe me. It’s a really messed up situation, but…” Mush stops and meets Blink’s gaze, his eyes softening slightly. “I think it’ll turn out okay, in the end.”

Blink lies down on Mush’s bed and spreads out with a content sigh. He is, as usual, very pleased with the fact that Mush doesn’t have a roommate. Blink, on the other hand, has to share a room since he was too late when he wished for a single. Not that his roommate is annoying or anything, but… Well. They don’t have a lot in common, that’s all. It’s just easier to go over to Mush’s.

“You can call me whenever,” Mush tells Race. He looks a bit sad, Blink notices, and he feels a knot in his stomach begin to form. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” He glances at Blink again. “Blink does too, even though he doesn’t say it often.” Blink sticks out his tongue at him, but he just grins back at him. “All right, get some sleep. Bye.” He hangs up with a small groan. 

Blink opens his arms and Mush gratefully accepts the offer by curling up next to him, sighing into his chest. Blink lightly massages Mush’s lower back. He can feel his boyfriend sink into him more and more as he slowly relaxes, as if he is trying to actually merge them together.

“He’s okay,” Mush says, answering the unasked question hanging in the air. “He went to class today, so I think he’s starting to adjust.” Blink hums into Mush’s hair without saying anything else. “But he’s taking the thing with Jack pretty hard.”

“What thing?”

Mush shrugs. “Just the fact that Jack doesn’t remember yet. I mean, Jack was-” He stops himself. “I mean, Jack _is_ , one of Race’s closest friends.”

“Just give it time,” Blink suggests, trying to stifle a yawn. 

“Yeah, of course,” Mush mumbles, but Blink can tell something else is bothering him. 

“What’s wrong?” He nudges Mush in the side, making him shift position so he’s lying next to Blink instead of on top of him. 

Mush lets out an almost inaudible sigh and looks up at him. “It made me think of… Well, when you remembered. But I didn’t.”

Blink is quiet, not sure what to say. It’s not something they have talked about before. Usually, they are so open to each other that having secrets is not really a thing, but something about remembering those few days, walking around alone and scared in a city so familiar yet so different… 

“I don’t know if I wanna talk about it,” Blink says. His voice is so quiet that Mush almost fails to make out the words. 

“That’s all right,” he says and puts his hand on Blink’s cheek. He thumbs over the edge of the eyepatch. Blink closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “I know it must have… It must have been difficult.”

Blink only nods. 

“And I’m glad you didn’t have to wait too long for me. Or for the others.”

Blink looks at Mush and smiles tightly. 

“I’m glad, as well.” He leans in and kisses Mush softly. Something warm spreads through Mush’s body as he does, unexplainable and still incredibly real. Blink lies down besides him and puts a hand on his waist, pulling him a little bit closer. 

“You know what’s strange?” he asks, voice slow and thick with the old accent that comes out when he’s too tired to pay attention. 

“What?”

“That we two found each other again. Isn’t that crazy? I don’t even know how I got so lucky the first time, but a second time? That just seems unachievable.”

Mush snickers and gently hits Blink on his shoulder. “Who knew you were such a sap?”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Mush quickly kisses Blink again. “I love you, too.”

A few minutes before this, Race hangs up on Mush just as he arrives at his own dorm building. He climbs the stairs as quickly as possible, his bag bouncing off his leg every step of the way. Every flight he climbs he gets more and more frustrated and tired. 

His day had been long and tiresome. Because of all the shit that happened last weekend, he was late with an assignment that was due today and he had to ask his favorite teacher for an extension. It had been humiliating, since it was his best class as well. On top of that, his mind had drifted off to Spot more often than he’d like to admit. The way he had just run out on him had been such a dick move, but he still can’t make himself contact him to apologize. The fact that they knew each other in the 19th century makes the whole hook-up so much more complicated, and even though Race is used to dealing with complicated when it comes to Spot, it still messes with his head. He had walked around campus distracted all day; he’s surprised he actually managed to get to his lectures on time. However, he doesn’t even want to think about how awful the notes he’s been taking must be. He figures he’ll try to copy them down another day. Tonight he simply needs to change into his pyjamas, lie down under his blanket and rest.

When he finally reaches his hallway he is both exhausted and filled with pent up energy, which is an annoying combination. He would go inside his dorm room and go to sleep right away, but instead he finds his way blocked by a certain Jack Kelly.

“Uh, hi?”

Jack looks up from his phone and quickly stands up when he sees his friend. “Oh, hey Race, what’s up man?”

Race shrugs. “Nothing much. What about you, you just… hanging out?” He gently pushes Jack aside to unlock his door.

Jack laughs. “Nah, I came to chill with you, man. We haven’t talked at all since the party.”

Race hums noncommitedly and walks inside his room. Hanging out with Jack is usually one of the least draining things Race can think of, but tonight it feels like a huge commitment. He debates telling his best friend to just fuck off. Even if he won’t go to sleep right away, Race does need to finish that assignment for class. 

But Jack is smiling hopefully at Race, tilting his head slightly, and Race is a weak man.

“Sure, but I’m super tired, so I’ll probably kick you out if you start complaining about losing at cards again.”

Jack follows him inside. “I never lose at cards, you dirty cheat.”

Race rolls his eyes and tosses his keys on the small coffee table. “You always lose at cards, Jack. You’ve always had a lousy poker face.”

Then Race remembers that they don’t play poker that much. Not in the 21st century. All his memories connected to poker and Jack are accompanied with the smell of cheap tobacco and dealing cards by a single candle. Fuck.

Luckily, Jack doesn’t seem to have heard Race’s comment. He is busy standing by Race’s desk, playing with one of Race’s fidget cubes.

“So, how are you?” Race says, quick to change the subject. Jack shrugs. 

“I’m okay. I’ve been looking at-” He stops himself, glancing back at Race with wary eyes. “Uh, nevermind.”

Race raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been looking at what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Race rolls his eyes and flops down onto his bed. It’s so comfortable that he debates the option to hibernate and just stay there until spring. “You know I won’t stop asking until you tell me. People have told me that I can be very persuasive.”

“Persuasive?” Jack looks doubting. 

“Well, the actual term might have been ‘annoying as fuck’ but I like to paraphrase.”

Race grins up at Jack, waiting. After a moment of hesitation, he gives in. “Okay, fine. I’ve… I’ve actually been looking at some art-colleges in Santa fe.”

Race’s smile slips of his face.

Santa fe. Right. 

He does everything in his power to not kick Jack out right then and there. 

_Fuck_ Santa fe. 

The only thing he can think of when he hears the name Santa fe are the bulls and a group of boys, upset and hurt. Romeo, falling to the ground and not getting up. Crutchie being dragged off to the refuge. Race, left alone without their leader there to help, trying to cheer them all up. All while Jack is off planning to go to Santa fucking fe. 

Race has to remind himself multiple times that it isn’t the same this time. Jack isn’t running away. He isn’t leaving Race alone to care for a bunch of kids. Race has no reason to be this upset about Jack wanting to go to Santa fe. 

But it still feels wrong when he pictures Jack leaving.

He is worried he’s been quiet for too long, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Oh, cool,” Race says at last, trying to sound casual. 

“Cool?” Jack is furrowing his brows. 

“Yeah, cool. You should go there.” Race shoots him a teasing smile. “Leave! See if I give a fuck.”

Jack smiles back. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

Yeah, Race thinks, I guess we will. 

Jack clears his throat and fidgets a bit with his hands. “So, Race, uh… There was something I wanted to ask you,” he begins, sounding hesitant.

Right. Of course there was an actual reason for Jack’s visit. Race should have known.

He begins trying to get out of his hoodie. “Yeah?”

“Have you noticed anything… uh, weird going on lately?”

Race stops dead in his tracks, his hoodie halfway off. He looks at Jack through the hole at the top. His face looks weirdly disproportioned, and Race would probably find it hilarious if the topic of conversation was different. “Weird? No, no I haven’t. Why would I have noticed anything weird? Weird how?” He mentally kicks himself at how obviously strange he’s being.

Jack bites his lip in hesitation. “Well, uh… to be honest? I’m kind of worried about Crutchie.”

Race instantly relaxes and pulls his hoodie off throws it on the floor. Crutchie, acting weird? He can deal with that. Anything that doesn’t have to do with 1899. “Oh, really? What’s up with him?”

“That’s what I don’t know!” 

“What do you mean? You’s the one living with the guy.” Race lies down against his pillows again.

Jack makes an exasperated gesture. “That’s the thing. He hasn’t been spending time at the apartment lately, I feel like he’s avoiding me, but I don’t know what I’ve done.” He sounds whiny.

Race shrugs. “Come on, man, it’s _Crutchie_.”

Jack smacks him over the head. 

“Ow!”

“That’s what I _mean_. The guy is strong, but only because he feels like he has to be, you know?”

A flashing memory of Crutchie on the ground, being dragged off to the refuge, the newsies watching without being able to do anything. Race is quiet. Jack starts pacing, which is really impressive given the size of the room. Race warily follows him with his eyes. “I mean, the guy has been walking on crutches for almost his whole life. Have you ever, in your whole life, ever heard him complain?”

No, Race thinks. Not in any of his _two_ lives, even. 

“No,” he says instead, and Jack nods at him. He goes even faster, and starts gesturing with his hands.

“Exactly! The guy hates people pitying him, which _I get_ , but it also means he never asks for help when he needs it, and it fucking sucks!” Jack’s voice is growing louder and louder. “He thinks he can handle everything, but…”

“Jack, sit down, please.”

Jack waves aside Race’s comment. “...he really can’t, there ain’t a person in this school who can handle everything, why can’t he just see that…”

“Fuck,” Race mumbles under his breath, closing his eyes. His head is throbbing. “Can you, like… just calm down for a second.”

Jack goes quiet. After breathing for a couple of seconds, Race opens his eyes. Jack is looking at him with concern in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

Race waves aside the question. “I’m fine. Just… you’re stressing me out with your fucking pacing.” He stretches a bit and sighs. Jack inspects him closely, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You wearing your binder? Is it making you feel, uh... bad?” He looks like he is mentally scolding himself for the clumsy way of expressing his concern.

Race grimaces. “Well, I’ve been wearing it all day, so yeah, a bit. That, and you acting crazy. Give me a sec.”

Jack nods and averts his eyes as Race takes off his binder under his shirt. 

“I think you need to talk to him, dude,” Race says as he is wiggling out of the binder. When it’s off he throws it on the floor and lies down again. “He’s your best friend-”

“Brother, more like.”

Race is quiet for a second, not surprised but a little bit taken aback, then nods. “Yeah. You just… need to be honest with him. Tell him you’re worried.”

Jack scoffs, but doesn’t answer. They are quiet for a moment. Seeing Jack calm down, and being out of his binder after a long day makes Race’s breathing even out a bit. Suddenly, a thought hits him. “Hey, maybe he’s seeing someone.”

Jack’s head whips around. “What? Has he said anything? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Race puts up his hand defensively in front of himself. “Hey, no need to chew my head off. Take it down a notch, will ya?”

Jack stares at him. “That was weird,” he says, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Spot, you’re talking... weirdly.”

Race starts spluttering indignantly, and Jack raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, damn, what’s up with that, then?” He sits down next to Race. “I saw you two talked some more at the party, but…”

“It don’t matter,” Race mutters, giving Jack the stink-eye. Jack doesn’t look intimidated. 

“Of course it matters!” he grins slightly and gives Race a playful shove. “My best friend and my almost foster-brother. It’s huge, man!” 

Race grimaces again. “You know it’s none of your business, right?” He rises and goes to the window. It’s quickly getting dark outside, even if it’s not that late yet. The depressing part of fall shows its face once again. All Race wants to do is go to sleep, but Jack sitting on his bed is making that kind of impossible. 

“Why are you so defensive about this?” Jack asks, keeping his voice low. “I mean, you’re not usually so… uptight, when it comes to people you date.”

Race doesn’t answer. Mostly it’s because he isn’t sure himself. 

“Is it…” Jack hesitates. “You know I don’t mind if you two date, you know? We weren’t foster brothers for so long, and -”

Race shakes his head and glances back at Jack. “No, don’t, that’s not it.”

Jack shrugs. “Well, then, what is it?”

Race mimics his shrug. “I don’t know.” He gives Jack a pointed look. “I’m not saying I’m sorry, though. It really ain’t none of your business.”

Jack laughs and nods. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please leave kudos or a comment if you did!!<3
> 
> My tumblr: @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You sure this is okay?”_  
>     
>  _“I texted Jack, he’ll be home pretty soon anyway. And besides, why wouldn’t it be okay? I goes into your rooms all the time, even when you ain’t in there.”_
> 
> _“You do what now?”_
> 
> _“Uh. Nothing.”_

“You sure this is okay?” Mush knows he sounds whiny, but still can’t stop himself from asking.

Albert waves aside the concern. His cheeks are rosy from the chill outside, and his eyes have a certain shine to them - like a child who is doing something they know they shouldn’t. “I texted Jack, he’ll be home pretty soon anyway. And besides, why wouldn’t it be okay? I goes into your rooms all the time, even when you ain’t in there.”

Mush stops to stare at Albert. “You do what now?”

“Uh. Nothing.”

“Albert…”

“It ain’t breaking and entering if you have been given a key, Mush. Come on, I just gotta pee.”

Mush looks at him suspiciously but lets it slide. The elevator stops with a small ding and they go out into the hallway. Jack and Crutchie’s apartment is at the end of the hall, and they make their way inside

“I don’t even know why we’re here,” Mush complains as Albert unceremoniously drops his bags on the floor. “I wanted to get food, my stomach is growling.”

“Grab something in the kitchen, then. They always have snacks.”

“How do you -”

Albert looks at Mush with a “duh”-look. “Crutchie gets hangry. Come on dude, can you stop worrying for like, two seconds? I’ve known Jack and Crutchie my whole life, it’s fine.” Mush mutters something under his breath that Albert decides to ignore. “Anyway, I’ll only take a second.” He leaves Mush in the kitchen, whistling a tune to himself as he does.

There is something unsettling about being in someone else’s apartment when they’re not home. It’s obvious no one cared enough to bother cleaning up properly before leaving that morning. The small kitchen table is still filled with dishes from breakfast, and when Mush sighs and leans against the kitchen counter he notices that it needs to be wiped down. The clock on the wall ticks the seconds away ominously as he waits for Albert to be done. 

He spots a few pictures on the fridge and leans forward to look at them closer. He loves finding the photographs that have been put up all around the apartment, he still remembers the first time Jack showed his small collection with a proud and slightly sappy smile. 

The first one is of three boys he recognizes at once. Jack, Albert and Race look very young, they couldn’t be more than twelve when the picture is taken. They are proudly showing off their color coordinated school binders for the camera. Albert’s and Race’s faces are covered in freckles, making them look like Jack has splattered them with paint. Race’s hair is almost buzzed, a sharp contrast to Albert’s sholderlengh locks. Jack has an arm slung over his friend’s shoulders, like an older brother protectively caring for his younger siblings.

The second picture is of Crutchie and Jack during their teenage years, sitting on a sofa playing on an old Nintendo DS. They are not acknowledging anything around them expect for their game. They look around the age of sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. Jack’s face is not as round as on the last picture, and even though they are sitting down it’s obvious that he is already a good few inches taller than Crutchie. But even though puberty has taken its toll, there is still the same carefree grin on his face, making him instantly recognizable. Crutchie is leaning over him slightly, holding the controller tightly in his grip and staring intensely at the screen. He must have still lived with his grandmother by then. Mush never met her before she passed away a couple of years ago, but Crutchie always speaks very fondly of her. 

The picture beside that is taken at one of Jack’s parties; Mush himself is smiling towards the camera, sitting on Blink’s lap, while Romeo and Specs are talking and not noticing that they’re being photographed. Race is smoking a cigarette, nicotine or weed not clear, and obviously cracking up over a joke Jack just made. Mush remembers that night faintly; right after the last exams of freshman year. 

The last photo is a picture of Jack, a couple of years younger than he is now, eyes full of laughter and a casual smirk spread over his lips. Next to him is Spot. 

Mush stops and inspects the photograph a bit closer. He has a memory of Spot being at the party, although it’s a bit vague. But what he does remember is him being there and Race talking to him. Mush had thought it better not to intervene, but he had kept himself nearby if the conversation had resulted in an argument. Spot had always been on the aggressive end of things, as far as Mush can remember, and Race found enjoyment in riling people up. But nothing had happened, at least not to Mush’ knowledge. Or course, he could have missed something. After all, he and Blink had been getting pretty busy smoking and… well, getting busy. By the time they had been ready to leave the party, both Spot and Race had gone home. 

A rattle in the front door makes Mush jump a bit, and he quickly takes a step back from the fridge. For a second he panics, before remembering that Jack was on his way home and knew about their visit. His breathing steadies for a moment.

But there are two voices carrying through the hallway when the door opens, and neither of them are Jack’s.

“-just need a bit of editing, but I think you can hand it in after that.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me, thank you. I didn’t think - wait, where did these bags come from?”

The voices go silent for a second, and then Mush can hear footsteps and the unmistakable sound of crutches on linoleum. 

“Who’s in here?” Crutchie rounds the corner and spots Mush. For a second, his face is filled with confusion, then surprise, and lastly it breaks into a smile. “Oh, hi! What are you doing here? I didn’t think Jack was home yet.”

Mush smiles tentatively, feeling his heart slow down a bit as his mind catches up to the quick pacing of the scene. “Oh, uh, well… Jack said it was okay…?”

Crutchie waves aside Mush’s comment. “Yeah, of course, it’s fine, you just scared me a bit!”

There is a sound coming from the hallway, and Mush suddenly remembers that Crutchie was talking to someone. 

“Who was it?” The other voice asks, still out of sight from the kitchen. 

Crutchie glances back, then at Mush again. The smile has slipped off his face and he hesitates before answering. “Uh, it’s Mush.”

“Mush?”

The sound of steps again, and then David Jacobs comes into view. 

Mush does very well, he thinks, by not screaming or even gasping in surprise. Davey looks almost just the same, with only a slightly more modern wardrobe. He still dresses more proper than anyone else of the group, Mush notes. He is carrying a small stack of textbooks under his arm and a bag of groceries in the other hand. His face, still open and friendly if maybe a bit timid, now looks both surprised and - after a moment of silence- a little uncomfortable. 

“Uh,” Mush says, glancing from Crutchie, who has moved to the back of the kitchen, to Davey. “Hello, I’m, ah, well, Mush. Michael, actually, but people just call me… Mush.” He finishes his introduction by awkwardly sticking out his hand before realizing that Davey has no way of shaking it without dropping his books. He quickly lowers it and tries to make it look planned and cool. 

Davey, who still looks a bit confused, smiles back. “David Jacobs,” he introduces himself. “Uh.” He clears his throat. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Mush wants to laugh at how he hasn’t changed a bit in one hundred and twenty years. 

He also kind of wants to cry over it. 

“So, uh, how do you two know each other?” he asks instead, trying to keep his voice level. He can’t even tell if he succeeds or not. The sound of his heart beating makes everything else fade into the background.

Crutchie and Davey look at each other. “Uh, well,” Crutchie begins to explain. “We’re in the same class-”

But before he gets a chance to finish, the bathroom door in the hallway swings open and Albert comes into the kitchen. He doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first, as he’s too busy checking his phone. “Okay I’m good to go, did Jack get back yet? I heard - _Davey?_ ” 

He stops abruptly in his tracks when he glances up and sees the occupants in the kitchen. They are all frozen to the spot. A shocked silence spreads throughout the room, and Mush feels like he could faint at any second. 

Goddammit, Albert. 

“Oh, you know each other already?” Mush tries for a lighthearted tone, hoping it’ll work to smooth over the slip-up of his suddenly mute friend. “Crutchie was just telling me about how he and David here take the same class, right?”

Crutchie smiles faintly and nods. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here in this exact moment, and Mush can’t blame him. Davey is not even paying any attention. His eyes are still locked with Albert’s.

“Hang on,” he says and takes a step forward. “Albert, do you… remember?”

There is a moment where none of them move an inch. Mush’s mind is spinning like a carousel. Davey, who he hasn’t seen for one hundred and twenty years, is not only alive and well, but he also seems so remember everything. His gaze is intense, like the answer to his question will make or break him. And, after all, that might be the truth. Mush doesn’t have any idea of how Davey’s life has looked like up until now. How long has he known? When did he meet Crutchie? And why haven’t they met before now? The questions make him feel dizzy, and he wishes he had the strength to sit down.

Albert lets go of a deep breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Yes, oh my _God_.” Then it’s like a switch is flipped inside his mind, and he realizes what Davey said. “Holy shit, do _you_ remember?”

“Wait,” Crutchie says and glances quickly from Albert, to Mush and back to Albert again. “Do both of you guys remember?”

Both Albert and Mush turn to stare at Crutchie. “Do you remember, Crutchie?” Mush manages to croak out in amazement as Albert starts swearing profoundly beside him.  
With a small nod, Crutchie sinks down onto a chair. He is looking a bit pale. Davey is chewing on his lip intently, looking deep in thought. He is still carrying both his books and the groceries. 

“Since when?” Mush asks. Crutchie looks down at the table. 

“Uh, since the party?”

Mush and Albert both blanch. “But, that’s like, two weeks ago.” Albert sounds almost hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything? Crutchie, we would have helped you! You could have told us-”

Crutchie glances up. “Could I? Could I really?” He shakes his head dismissively. “Not even counting the fact that I _didn’t know_ you guys also remembered, there are other reasons why I didn’t go to you.”

Mush feels like he just got slapped. “What reasons?” 

Crutchie works his jaw slightly, his eyes not really meeting theirs. “You guys have been so absent lately, you know that, right? Keeping me and Specs out of everything… Jack, too. I thought Race still gave a fuck, but he’s been avoiding me ever since the party…” He takes a deep breath and slows down. “You’s going through some shitty things, I get that, especially now, but…” He glances up at Davey and then back at the others. “Can you guys really blame me if my first impulse wasn’t to go to you?”

The silence that follows is thick with tension. The room is holding its breath, waiting for anybody to answer Crutchie’s sudden sprout of anger. Davey looks slightly horrified. Crutchie looks tired. Albert lets out a slightly hysterical laugh and sits down on a chair as well. 

Mush doesn’t know what to think, to be honest. Is Crutchie right? Maybe they have been avoiding the others a bit, while they tried to figure out everything that’s going on. And, of course, the extra anxiety of having to watch their words in order to not let anything slip. Yeah, it had been easier to just not talk to the others as much as possible. They just hadn’t taken the possible repercussions into consideration. 

“We didn’t know,” Davey whispers. “That you…” 

Mush just nods at him, his own body feeling slightly numb. He can feel tears prickling in his eyes, but he forces them back down. Now’s not the time. He isn’t a scared little teenager facing a hopeless strike any longer. He can handle this like an adult. So instead of sitting down and crying, he strides forward and pulls Crutchie into a hug. At first Mush feels him freeze, but after a second he relaxes slightly and puts his arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” Mush says. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Crutchie mumbles into his shoulder.

They break apart and Mush’s eyes land on Davey. “Also, holy fuck, _Davey!_ ” He basically flings himself at him, who just barely manages to stay upright. The textbooks fall to the floor with a clatter. Mush can hear both Albert and Crutchie break into laughter from the table. 

*

There is a strange feeling of melancholy in the air when Race steps off the bus. He glances around and takes in his surroundings. The smell of horses and hay is so familiar to him, but at the same time extremely foreign. There is a distinct chill in the air, making him pull his jacket a little bit tighter around himself. Fall is definitely coming, and with it, undoubtedly, a cloud of exams and stress. The next couple of months will be filled with hard work and sparse moments of relaxation. But, for now, Race has enough free time to come out here. For now, it’s enough to just exist right now, for the first time in weeks. 

He hasn’t actually been around a lot of horses since 1899. He has always liked them, though, even in this lifetime. His sister used to ride for a couple of years, so he sometimes went with his mother to pick her up after her lessons. But then she decided that playing the drums was more important, and he didn’t have an excuse to go any more. Until now, that is. Because some of his most prominent memories from 1899 are him spending time at the stables next to Sheepshead’s. Petting the horses, talking to them, even feeding them carrots or apples if he could get a hold of them. He had made friends with the stable boys. One of them had even offered to teach him to ride, but he had declined, scared of being in debt to anyone.

Now, he wanders along the long end of the building, breathing deeply to get the fresh air into his lungs. Getting out of the city is a luxury he has learned to enjoy, since it almost never happens otherwise. Children of about ten years are walking in and out of the stable accompanied either by stressed parents or by even more stressed teachers. Race smiles at the kids and tries to look like he belongs, even though it’s evident he doesn’t in his jeans that are too clean and sneakers that are too new to wear to a stable. 

Neighing can be heard clearly all around him, and when he rounds the corner he can see a dark brown mare stomping in the ground. His heart does a little flip when he sees her. He is surprised by the amount of affection that he feels at once, even though it has been a whole lifetime since he last actually approached a horse. 

“Hi, sweetness,” he mumbles as he slowly walks up to the fence. The pony looks at him, as if deciding whether to give him the time of day or not. Her fur is dark and thick, and looks incredibly soft. When he pulls a few slices of an apple from his pocket she shakes her mane a bit, suddenly interested. Race holds the slices out in front of him as he was taught so many years ago - flat palm with the knuckles down - and lets the mare nibble out of his hand. Slowly, he strokes her blaze. To his surprise, she lets him, even when the apple slices are eaten. He pats her neck absentmindedly with his other hand, feeling her steady breathing under his fingers. It calms him down slightly. 

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” he smiles at the pony buffing his hand, seemingly looking for more food. “No, sorry, no more food. I don’t wanna get in trouble with your owner, now do I?” He pets her neck a bit more, but when he doesn’t give her any more snacks she shakes her mane and backs away from him, trotting away to find other horses.  
Race leans against the fence, looking out at the field. He can see a group of ponies hanging out in the other end of the pasture. His new friend joins them. 

A group of young teenage girls hurries past him and continue into the stable while chatting excitedly. A couple of them glance back at Race and then giggle among themselves, making Race frown at their backs when they go. An insistent buzz from his phone wakes him up from the trance-like state he fell into, and he begrudgingly takes it out to see who is bothering him. The screen feels too bright and technical against the rustic background.

**From Unknown to Race, 14:24:**  
_hi is this race? Got your nr from jack_

**From Unknown to Race, 14:24:**  
_oh yeah this is spot btw_

**From Unknown to Race, 14:24:**  
_spot conlon_

**From Unknown to Race, 14:24**  
_anyway just wanted to check if ure ok after last time_

Race smiles slightly, a warm feeling spreading from his chest making him stop shivering despite the chilly air. Spot had cared enough to check up on him. He even went through the trouble of getting his number from Jack. Race quickly sets Spot as a new contact, but hesitates when he goes to answer. What’s he supposed to say? “Sorry for running off after hooking up with you, I just had a weird vision about us in the 19th century and now I feel like throwing up every time someone mentions a newspaper”? Not a great restart. 

**From Race to Spot, 14:27:**  
_hahah hiii spot yeah its me i’m fine thnks for checking_

**From Spot to Race, 14:27:**  
_cool cool cool. listen i was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime_

Another moment of hesitation. Race’s fingers hover over the keyboard. 

**From Race to Spot, 14:29:**  
_yeah maybeeee. i’m kinda swamped rn but i’ll text you if i have time to meet up_

He sends it before he can change his mind and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. The calmness of the stable is quickly disappearing, so he starts making his way back to the bus stop. The lie makes his phone feel heavy in his pocket, and he can’t help himself from checking if Spot has answered. He isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he hasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOohhh here we go, hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, if you liked it please leave kudos and comments!<3
> 
> Say hello on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There is only one thing David feels is important enough to clear up, though. He is almost scared when he tentatively asks: “And, uh, Jack…?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaahhhh thank you all for the comments on the last chapter!

“Oh my God, we need to tell the others!” Albert springs out of his chair to grab his phone before anyone else has had the chance to react.

David raises his eyebrows. “The others? So, how many -”

“Too many, and at the same time not many enough,” Mush mutters. 

He quickly tries to fill David and Crutchie in on the situation, but it only makes David’s head spin. Neither he nor Crutchie knew anything, it turns out. There is only one thing he feels is important enough to clear up, though. He is almost scared when he tentatively asks: “And, uh, Jack…?”

Crutchie is inspecting at David, but doesn’t say anything. Mush shakes his head and looks at David a bit regretfully. “Not yet. I’m sorry.” He stops for a second and meets Albert’s eyes, then glances back at him again. “Uh, we think that sometimes the memories return if you get triggered by something… Like, uh, a smell, or maybe something someone said, or… Or a person.”

David nods, even though he’s unsure of what point Mush is trying to make. “Yeah, Crutchie told me about that.”

“My memories got triggered by seeing one of Jack’s paintings of Santa fe,” Crutchie explains. He is moving around the kitchen on his crutches, making tea for everyone. He is listening intently to the conversation as he pours the boiling water into the teapot.

“But that didn’t happen to me,” David continues. “I just woke up one night-”

“Yeah, like I said, it only happens sometimes,” Mush reassures him. “We have no idea why it happens like it does. But, uh, I wasn’t thinking about you, I was… Well, I was thinking that maybe that’s what’s gonna happen with Jack.”

David furrows his eyebrows. No matter how good grades he gets, he still can’t seem to keep up with these things. Everything just swarms around in his brain like angry bees. “What do you mean? Do you think… We can trigger him into remembering?”

Mush shrugs. “I think maybe if he meets someone who brings out strong memories from 1899… Maybe.”

Suddenly David puts together what Mush is saying with the meaningful look he’s giving him, and he feels his face become uncomfortably warm. “You think… me?” 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. There is something very flattering about the thought of being the reason why Jack gets his memories back. A small part of his brain can picture it, even. The broad grin that would spread across Jack’s face, his eyes softening a little bit as he recognizes David among other unfamiliar faces. A connection to his old life, a memory that is strong enough to change everything.

Mush smiles, almost like he knows what David’s thinking. “Like I said, I don’t know. Me and Blink have been talking, though, and we think… Well, either it’s you, or it’s Katherine.”  
David’s daydream comes to a sudden halt. Of course. Katherine, that would make more sense. She had been Jack’s girlfriend, after all. What’s David got to compete with that?

“And you don’t know where Katherine is yet?” he asks to keep up the facade of coolness even though his stomach is suddenly feeling very heavy.

Mush shakes his head. “No, not yet.”

David sighs. “Well, Jack’s not here though, so…” He doesn’t add that right now, he’s actually kind of relieved he hasn’t met Jack yet. The last thing he wants to do is meet him without any sort of preparation. The image of him meeting Jack, and Jack remembering, only works if David can actually be calm. And that’s not gonna happen if it’s just sprung upon him like this. 

“That’s not gonna be a problem,” Albert says, suddenly. He’s waving his phone in their faces. “Jack’s on his way up right now.”

Crutchie looks up, alarm on his face. “He is?” His posture shifts and becomes stiff. He meets David’s gaze and furrows his eyebrows. “Okay, I guess we’ll see if he remembers soon enough.”

David doesn’t have any time to react before he hears the front door open. The voice that calls out is both so familiar and at the same time so foreign to him. A chill goes down his spine. 

“In here!” Mush calls out. Crutchie is looking closely at David, as if trying to read his mind. David himself is frozen to his chair, unable to move as the steps come closer. His eyes are fixed on the open door that leads to the hallway. Half of his body is yelling at him to bolt, to climb out of the window and hope that the ten story-fall won’t kill him. The other half is keeping him there, waiting impatiently for Jack to make his appearance. 

“Hey everyone! Oh, you’re new. I’m Jack.”

His smile is wide and charming, just as it had been back then. He is red in the face from the cold outside, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it as he extends a hand for David to shake. His hair is ruffled by either the wind or the hat, and it makes him look like his old self. David stares at the hand for a couple of seconds, before remembering what you’re supposed to do in a situation like this. “Oh, uh, hello. I’m David. Davey.”

Jack nods with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Davey.” They shake hands, but when David looks into Jack’s eyes he can see nothing except the casual politeness of greeting a total stranger. The sour feeling of disappointment travels from his stomach and fills his whole body.

What had he been expecting? Fireworks and sparks to start when they touched? Maybe not. But Mush’s earlier words now leave a hint of bitterness in David’s mouth. Because if he’s not the one who’ll trigger Jack’s memories, then it must be… Not that he should have expected anything else, really. Like he thought before: it makes sense.  
Jack glances around the room, where everyone is quietly observing the two men. “Uh... hi guys,” he says slowly.

Mush sighs, a hint of disappointment shadowing his face. Albert hums in greeting and looks down at his phone again. 

“Davey is in my psychology-class,” Crutchie explains and sits down in his chair again. “He’s been helping me out a lot with that paper I’ve had so much trouble with.”  
Mush begins to pour tea into the mugs, mostly, David thinks, to have something to occupy him with as Jack turns to Crutchie with a slightly confused look. 

“Oh, why haven’t I heard about this paper? Maybe I could have helped.”

Crutchie stares at Jack for a second. “Uh, didn’t I mention it?”

“No. You didn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence spreads in the room as the two best friends stare at each other. It is only broken by Mush, who clears his throat pointedly and says: “Tea, anyone?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before handing out mugs. David gratefully takes a sip, happy for anything that might distract him from staring at Jack.

Jack looks down at the mug that has suddenly been thrust into his hands. “I, uh…” He shakes his head slightly, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “No, sorry, I have… some work to do, yeah.” He puts the mug down on the table. “But, hey, it was… nice to meet you, Davey.” He stares at him for a couple of seconds, like he wants to say something else. He looks almost confused. Then he glances at Crutchie, who doesn’t look back. Jack clears his throat. “I’ll be in my room if… whatever.”

He leaves quickly, and David slumps down in the chair as soon as he hears the door shut. 

“Oh my God,” he mumbles, putting his head in his hands. “What just happened?” 

Mush pats him consolingly on the back. 

After this encounter, Albert is quick to get everybody else up to speed. He calls Romeo later that night to explain the situation.

“What do you mean you found Davey?” Romeo sits up in his bed. He can’t believe he missed this. Probably the biggest drama to happen for weeks, and he was off somewhere else studying? Unbelievable. 

“It was crazy, man,” Albert says, sounding a little bit breathless on the other end of the call. “But yeah, Davey remembers, and Crutchie, too.”

“We should start making a list, soon we’ll be too many for us to keep track of,” Romeo jokes. 

Albert laughs. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. Anyway, what’s up with you? I’m on my way to meet Race for coffee.”

Romeo throws himself down against his pillows with a groan.“My god, can I come with you? I’m going crazy in here.”

The dorm room is even more cluttered than usual, thanks to him and Specs not having the time nor the energy to clean anything. Piles of laundry are lying next to the dresser, two plates filled with crumbs from an unidentifiable source are on the desk. The whole room smells of old pizza and dirty socks. 

“Uh…”

“Please, Albie, sweetheart. Specs is off studying or whatever, and I can’t stay in this smelly dorm any longer. If I continue laying in my bed I will become permanently attached to it.”

Albert lets out a laugh, and Romeo knows he’s in. “Okay, fine.” 

Romeo whoops. “You’re a doll, Albie!” He jumps up from the bed and is already halfway out of the dorm before a sudden thought hits him and he loses as of his enthusiasm. “Damn, I have to finish this book for class...” 

“We’ll just swing by after we get coffee and get you,” Albert suggests. “We’re going back to Race’s later to play videogames.”

Romeo admits that it sounds like a good idea, and they hang up. Ignoring the mess, he grabs his book from the desk and settles down on his bed, beginning to read. He likes reading just fine, usually. And it’s even for one of his history-classes, so it should be very interesting. The only problem is that the book is actually kind of… well, boring as shit. It only takes about fifteen pages until Romeo is dozing off against his pillows, the book falling onto his chest. 

He is jolted awake by a sharp knock on his door and the sound of voices outside the dorm room. How long was he out? There’s another knock. Romeo drags himself up with a groan and unlocks the door for Albert and Race, before slouching back to his bed and promptly laying down again. 

“Uh, hi,” Race pops his head in, sees Romeo and laughs. “Damn Romeo, how did studying go?”

Romeo sticks up a middle finger in the general direction of Race’s voice. He can hear both him and Albert snicker. 

“I’m too tired to move,” Romeo complains, voice slightly muffled by the pillow. 

“Holy crap, Ro, you really were serious about this dorm. I think I can smell last week’s chinese takeout.” Albert picks up an old napkin from the dresser to inspect it closer, but drops it quickly. “Ew, that’s still wet, what the fuck.”

Race sits down on the swivel chair in front of the desk and begins spinning around, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Why don’t I have one of these?” he complains. “This would make studying so much more fun, oh my god.”

“It doesn’t,” Romeo warns him, yawning. “Example A.” He points to himself. He can feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. Him falling asleep is a very possible end to this conversation.

Albert claps his hands, making Romeo jolt awake again. “I’m ready to beat you guys on Mario Kart, let’s go.”

Romeo sits up slowly, head still spinning from napping too hard. He puts his head in his hand with a grunt. “Just… gimme a sec.”

Albert slumps down on Specs’s bed with a slight groan. Race has begun shifting through the various objects on the desk, reading notes and commenting on different books. “I haven’t read any of these, but they look terrible.” Romeo stands up and grabs his oldest, warmest and most comfortable hoodie he can find. Race whistles. “Oh, who is the fancy-pants reading the _school newspaper?_ ” He fans himself with said newspaper, smiling coyly over the top like he’s imitating a 19th century woman.

Romeo rolls his eyes. “Specs, it’s for an assignment. And you just told me you’re single in fan language.”

Race winks at him.

Albert looks up from his phone. “The what language? And why do you know about it?”

“Uh, well,” Romeo gestures at himself for emphasis. “I’m a hopeless romantic, and a history nerd. That’s why.”

Race grins and stops trying to flirt with the pape. Instead he raises it in the air as if he is hawking it. “Extra, extra!” He glances at the front page. “Uh, a new boring research proofs new boring theory!” Albert laughs and Race looks satisfied with the attention he’s getting. 

“It’s actually kinda interesting,” Romeo argues and looks around the room for his keys. 

Race snorts and starts flipping through the pape. “Yeah, okay, I’ll believe it when I -” and then he suddenly goes quiet.

Romeo and Albert both glance up at Race. “What?”

There is no answer. Albert and Romeo look at each other. There is never a good situation in which Race is shocked into silence. 

“Race, what’s wrong?” Albert asks, hesitantly rising from the bed. 

Without a word, Race hands over the pape to Albert. His eyes are wide. Albert’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he reads where Race is pointing.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles.

“Come on,” Romeo says. “What is it?”

He goes up to Albert and looks over his shoulder to see. On the top of an article is a title that Romeo faintly remembers Specs mentioning. What Specs had failed to mention, though, is the name of the author of said article.

_“Making a career in a male-dominated industry - and other things I worry about” by Katherine Plumber._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING
> 
> I know this is shorter than usual, so I will try to update soon!
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments if you liked this, I reread all the comments I get ALL THE TIME so please know that it makes it _so_ much more fun to post and share this story with everyone! Thank youuu
> 
> Say hello on tumblr!!! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Race lets out a woop before Romeo can answer. “I found her!”_
> 
> _A ripple of suspense rushes through the room as they all quickly crowd around the laptop._

Video games are completely forgotten in favor of calling the others to let them know what’s going on and browsing the school paper for more information. 

“Their website sucks,” Race complains while scrolling on Romeo’s computer and just as a knock is heard on the door. When Romeo opens it’s Mush and Blink, and a minute after that Crutchie arrives, talking to his phone. 

“-so sorry, you know I am, but something came up.” he says, leaning heavily on one crutch and holding his phone between his chin and ear. “Yeah. Of course we will. I… Yeah, I guess that works. Uh, Jack, I have to go, but I’ll see you later.” He hangs up and grimaces at Romeo, who claps him on the shoulder. “Okay, get me up to speed, will you?”

Race lets out a woop before Romeo can answer. “I found her!”

A ripple of suspense rushes through the room as they all quickly crowd around the laptop. 

“I can’t believe you guys didn’t think about checking the school newspaper,” Crutchie says and sits down at Romeo’s bed, putting his crutches next to him and stretching his leg out. 

Blink casts him an annoyed look. “Well I’m sorry, didn’t see you helping out either.”

“Can you calm down?” Mush asks, grabbing hold of Blink’s arm. “Let’s focus.”

“They have a small infobox about their regular writers,” Race says. “Son of a bitch. A year above us, well, two years above Romeo-”

“Shut up, Race.”

“Majoring in English Lit-”

“No surprise there…”

“-Shut up, Al.”

“You shut up!”

“Guys!” Race calls. “If you ain’t fucking quiet, Imma kick you out.”

“It’s not even your dorm, dude.”

After doing some research (“Stalking. This is stalking.” “Shut up, Mush, no one cares.”) they find that Katherine has a lecture in Medieval literature the following day. (“Oh, cool! I wanted to take that class last year, but my schedule-” “Shut up, Romeo, no one _cares”_ )

After some debate they let Romeo and Mush go to see if they can find her, since Romeo begged to get a glimpse of that lecture, and Mush didn’t have any other plans. 

“And who knows what’ll happen if you’re left alone with Katherine, you female-magnet,” he teases. 

Romeo splutters indignantly. “That was in 1899! If I had known how pan I was, I would probably have flirted with all of you, as well!”

The hallway outside of the lecture hall is empty when they walk through it. Mush is extremely tired, after staying up too late talking to Blink about old memories. A yawn escapes him as they pass door after door. 

Romeo sighs. “I wish Specs was here.”

Mush glances at him. Romeo is wistfully looking down at his phone. 

“Any particular reason?” he asks tentatively. As much as he loves Romeo, sometimes he gets a bit over-emotional talking about the people he cares about.

“Well first thing, he adored Katherine. They were pretty close friends, you know?” Romeo shrugs. “Of course, Specs could become friends with anyone back then, he always wanted to help others. Everybody liked him, didn’t they?”

Mush ruffles Romeo’s hair. “You’s jealous, Ro?”

“Of Specs?” Romeo scoffs. “Nuh-huh! Why would I be?”

Mush raises an eyebrow. Romeo doesn’t say anything. Something suddenly flips, and he looks kind of small, as well as deep in thought. Mush stops. “You okay?”

Romeo glances around the empty hallway as if he’s worried anyone will hear their conversation. “I was thinking about something,” he admits. “You and Blink. Back then… were you… you know...?”

Mush smiles softly, suddenly filled with lots of affection towards the small boy in front of him. “Why are you whispering?” he asks. “No one is going to hurt you for talking about two guys being in love. Not here, not now.” He feels almost as a fraud saying this, given his own insecurities, but he can’t let Romeo get affected by that. 

Romeo blinks.

“Right.” he says, and straightens up a bit. “I know that, of course I do.”

Stopping himself from giving him a hug, Mush instead opts for a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay. I know it’s an adjustment. It was for us, as well. Still is.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while,” Romeo says, looking a bit sheepish. “So, uh, were you?”

Mush thinks about all the nights he spent in Blink’s bunk bed, how he had always wondered why that felt more secure and comfortable than with any pretty girl he had dated over the years. He thinks about kissing those other girls, how he had told himself and anybody who would listen that he had enjoyed it, but even after everything he had still climbed into Blink’s bunk with another lame excuse, night after night. Kid Blink, with his shaggy hair and eyepatch, had looked intimidating to the younger kids, but Mush hadn’t been as easily scared. He had always known that under the exterior there was an ordinary boy. Or, okay. Maybe not an ordinary boy. After all, there had been nothing ordinary about the way Blink kissed. 

“Mush?”

He blinks and is brought back to the present.“Oh.” He rubs his jaw. “Yeah, we were.” 

Romeo looks pleased with that fact. “That makes sense,” he says with a small laugh. “You were very close. Isn’t it crazy how none of us knew? It must have been weird, keeping it a secret.”

Something inside of Mush does a somersault and he swallows. “I mean...” he says, his voice a little too high. “We didn’t… Uh, we didn’t really want to keep it a secret, you know?”

Romeo’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Yeah, no, of course not.” He bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid comment.”

Mush waves aside Romeo’s apology with a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it. But, uh, now that you brought it up…”

Romeo nods. “Yeah?” 

Mush sighs. He isn’t sure why he chooses this particular moment to talk about this, but suddenly he can’t keep it in any longer. “It’s stupid, but… Every time Blink takes my hand around others, I freeze up. It’s like… Something inside of me is still scared of people finding out. Which is stupid, since everybody already knows.”

Romeo looks a bit pitying, which is not how Mush wanted him to react. 

“It ain’t stupid,” Romeo says. “I mean, like you said, it’s an adjustment. And being from the 19th century is a big part of you, right?” He gestures at himself. “It is for me, at least.”

Mush nods quickly, knowing what Romeo is talking about. He can remember his whole life in the 21st century, he did grow up during this time, but an almost as big part of himself can recall running around on cobblestones with no shoes, accepting scraps of bread from the kind nuns, and waking up at dawn to go to Newsies Square. 

A big part of him is from now, living in a time and place where he can call Blink his boyfriend without any fear for his life, where they can hold hands and go on dates and do everything couples do. But at the same time he can so clearly remember the anxiety of hiding. Voices during the dead of night, muffled to not wake anybody up. Sneaking away whenever they got the chance, but not so often that people would notice. Cold alleyways, where the only thing keeping them safe was the dark and each other. 

And the feeling of having no future. That had been the scariest thing. Because Mush had always known that he and Blink couldn’t have a real future together. No matter how well they hid, how many times they fooled their friends, they would grow up into a life where they were expected to get their own families and their own lives, away from each other.

“There is nothing weird about you feeling anxious about those things,” Romeo continues. “None of us who remember are walking around unaffected, right?”

Mush thinks about Race, who only the day before proclaimed that he was gonna quit smoking, for good. Albert, who seems to stick to Race’s side as much as possible since the party, but doesn’t answer when anyone comments on it. Blink, who sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night with bad dreams about running from the police. 

“Yeah, we’re all dealing in the best way we can, I guess,” Mush says. 

Romeo nods in agreement. “Exactly. But, shit, look at you!” He punches Mush lightly on the shoulder. “You’re still here, you’re still with Blink. You’re doing great.” He smiles, a bit sadly. “Hell, I didn’t even know I was queer back then, I… didn’t really let myself think about it you know? But… If I had known?” He goes quiet for a second and shakes his head dismissively. Then he grabs hold of Mush’s hand a squeezes it. “If it makes any difference, I think you and Blink were very brave. Still are, to be honest.”

Mush smiles gratefully at Romeo.

“So,” he says, changing the subject. “What brought this on? Specs? Is he remembering?”

Romeo looks down and shakes his head. “Nah. He is suspecting something, of course. I just… I want to tell him everything. I hate lying to him.”

Mush doesn’t know what to say, scared of upsetting Romeo or triggering a fight like the last time they talked about this subject. But, honestly, Mush is still convinced it’s a bad idea to tell Specs. He thinks it’s a bad idea to tell anyone who doesn’t already remember. If they go around and explain their situation to everybody, the secret will come out somehow as it always does when a rumour is spread. And that’s not even counting the fact that Specs might not even believe them, but instead think they’ve gone insane and are in need of a mental check. No, the risk is simply too big to be worth it. But how does he make Romeo understand that? Sweet Romeo, who just wants everybody to get along and be honest with each other.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything in the end. They stand there, looking at each other for a moment, before continuing down the hall in silence. After a couple of minutes Romeo stops them, gesturing at a door.

“Are you sure this is the right hall?” Mush asks, and Romeo nods. 

“Positive. Like, ninety-five percent.”

“Romeo...”

“Okay, maybe like eighty. It should be this one!”

Mush pushes Romeo to the door, not too gently. “Go ahead, then, lover-boy.”

Romeo opens the door slowly and peaks his head inside. Then he motions for Mush to follow him, and they both sneak in and sit down on the last row, which is almost unoccupied. 

“Can you see her?”

“Shh!”

“Is that her?”

“Maybe, I can’t tell from here.”

“What if she has dyed her hair since 1899?”

Mush looks at Romeo. “You know what, that’s actually a really good point.”

Romeo smiles. “Thank you.”

“There are too many people, I think,” Mush whispers, keeping an eye on the professor. “Maybe we should wait and grab her when she walks out of the door?” 

Romeo lights up. “Does that mean we can stay and listen to the rest of the lecture?”

They stay for the rest of the class, to Romeo’s enjoyment. He sits enthralled for almost twenty minutes, and when it’s time to go Mush has to pinch him a couple of times before motioning for him to get up. They sneak out of the hall and stand right outside the door when they hear the sound of students collecting their notes and pens at the end of class. They wait patiently (or, not so patiently in Romeo’s case) as the students filter out through the door in groups or one by one. The clatter of almost a hundred people makes it hard to hear any particular voice, so they just try to look at every passing student until they finally see her. 

She looks scarily familiar to back then, her posture and determined walk the exact same as it was. Only now her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her wardrobe is slightly more modern, with a dark purple blazer covering a light blue t-shirt. Instead of stockings and high heels she is wearing black jeans and short boots. She is busy going through a binder of notes that she is carrying to notice them as she passes. Romeo and Mush glance at each other. They haven’t planned this far ahead. So Romeo does what Romeo does best: he panics slightly.

“Hey, Katherine!”

Mush hits Romeo lightly at the back of his head, but the mistake has already been made. Katherine spins around and sees them. For a second, all three of them stare at each other in silence. Romeo and Mush look at each other again. What are they supposed to do if she doesn’t remember them? They had all just… kind of assumed she would. But how do they explain why they know a total strangers name, and why they decided to yell it out to her in the middle of the hallway?

Katherine tilts her head a tiny amount and her face burst into a wide grin. 

“Mush! Romeo!”

She runs up to them and throws herself into their arms. They barely have time to hug back before she pulls away to inspect them closer. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad to see you. How are you?” She doesn’t even let them answer before she is excitedly talking about her lecture, acting as if this situation isn’t strange at all. But, Mush thinks, who knows? Maybe Katherine meets friends from her other lives all the time. 

Just like in 1899, everything seems to fall into place easier when Katherine is there. 

“Oh my gosh,” she says as she’s browsing through all of their notes. “I mean, I can’t read half of this because of the handwriting, but- “

“Hey!”

“-But I think it’s really good!” she smiles widely at the others. “You guys really have been working so hard. I’m proud of you.”

Normally, that slightly degrading tone would make the other Newsies feel a bit… well, like kids. But this is _Katherine_. Whether they like it or not, she is probably one of the smartest of the bunch. At least she was the best educated of them in 1899, and they fall into the same old routine surprisingly fast. Her praise only makes them smile and sit a little straighter.

“We still haven’t found a good way to actually find people, though,” Race says. Even if he would never admit it, there is something very calming about having the presence of Katherine in the room. Someone who is smart and capable taking charge so that Race doesn’t have to reclaim that post. “We’ve been searching social media-”

Hours of endlessly scrolling through instagram-accounts and different facebooks to find people. Sadly, it had been a bust. Who knew there were so many guys named Henry who lived in New York City?”

“Excuse me, you haven’t done anything, I’m the one who’s been browsing day and night-”

“It’s not my fault you don’t have a healthy sleeping pattern, Blink!”

“Fuck off, will you, Racer?”

“Boys!”

They settle down, Katherine waving her hands in the air to get their attention. “Come on, what are you, fifteen?”

Race and Blink open their mouths to argue, but stop themselves. 

“Anyway,” Katherine continues. “What we need is a foolproof way to find people, right?”

The others nod. A smile spreads on Katherine’s face. “What would you say if I tell you I can get us access to this university’s student register?”

Yeah. Katherine makes everything fall into place in ways none of them could expect. It only takes a couple of days before she is bursting into the library with a smirk on her face, waving a USB gleefully. David, Romeo and Race are the only ones there, but that doesn’t stop them from immediately plugging the stick into David’s computer and pulling up the register. 

“Why haven’t you done this before?” Romeo asks. Katherine had, after their first meeting, told them that she had only started remembering a few days before. It was all very new to her, but she had still fully embraced it without any hesitation.

Katherine sighs and shrugs slightly. “I just… Well, I didn’t think it as real at first, and it felt like just setting myself up for disappointment.”

“This is...” David shakes his head in disbelief while browsing through the hundreds of names. “How did you -”

She pats his shoulder. “Honestly, I think it’s better if you don’t ask.”

David glances up at her but averts his gaze just as quickly. 

Meeting Katherine again is… something. He had always liked her, especially in 1899 when he had felt that she was the only one he could have a serious discussion with. Sometimes he would visit her when he got tired of how uneducated the Newsies were. Looking back, he cringes at that extremely elitist way to treat his friends, but nonetheless it makes him still have a big amount of respect for the woman standing next to him. 

That being said, it’s still weird. Her relationship with Jack had been such a big reason why she had spent time with them all, but now… Jack still didn’t remember. Katherine had carefully avoided that subject like the plague. The unspoken tension was still there, everytime Jack was mentioned. David still didn’t know how to approach it. He hasn’t met Jack since their strange and slightly awkward “first” meeting a couple of weeks ago, and he can’t decide if he desperately wants to meet him again or if he’d do anything to avoid it.  
Okay, no, that’s a lie. David most definitely wants to meet Jack again. There is probably not anything else he would rather do. But Jack in this timeage isn’t really Jack at all. Or, well, of course he’s still Jack. He’s just… Not David’s Jack. It’s not the same boy who taught David how to sell papes, and not the same boy who went on strike just because it was the right thing to do. 

“Kath, darling, do you think you could get me access to this register for my term paper? I need to- “

“No way, Romeo.”

“Damn, okay.”

Katherine ruffles his hair. “Sorry, but I need to be very hush-hush about having this.” She glances at Race with a slightly stern look. “So no telling anyone, okay?”

Race looks mildly offended. “Why are you saying this to me, don’t you trust me?”

Katherine considers him for a moment before shaking her head. “No, not really.”

Race mutters something David decides he is glad he can’t make out, and pulls out his phone. There is a buzzing noise and Race quickly checks his phone and answers whoever it was trying to get in contact with him. 

“Anyway,” Katherine says and pulls her hair back with a pen. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Race stands up. “Nah, I can’t,” he starts collecting his things that are strewn across the table. “I, uh… I have this thing. But, hey, text me if you find anything, alright?”

He pulls on his jacket and quickly leaves the library with nothing more than a wave goodbye. As he steps outside the doors he gets a slight sense of relief over the fact that no one asked him where he was going, even though he was acting extremely suspicious.

He brings out his phone again, and checks the last texts once again. 

**Spot to Race, 12.58**  
_i was thinking that coffeeshop close to washintn sq pa, you know about it?_

**Race to Spot, 12.58**  
_yeahhh sure that sounds cool about an hour?_

**Spot to Race, 13.01:**  
_looking forward to it_

As Race makes his way down to the platform, he thinks about Spot. Surprise. Like he hasn’t been unable to think of anything, or anyone, else the last weeks. 

Back in 1899, Race and Spot had been close. It might have not seemed that way to any outsider, but Race knows that Spot had always had a soft spot for him. So to speak.  
Most people would hear Spot arguing with Race, or see his frowning face whenever he saw Race sell in Brooklyn, and assume he was only letting him off the hook because of high up in the Newsie hierarchy he happened to be. But Race had always believed that actions spoke louder than words, and that was the final proof that Spot had actually cared. Because at the end of the day, Spot had let Race sell at his turf, even though no one else would have been allowed. And more days then not, Spot would drop by Sheepshead’s and check in on Race, talking to him and making sure no Brooklyn newsie was giving him trouble. 

“I can take care of myself, Spotty,” Race had once said as they walked back to the bridge once evening. “Yous don’t need to follow me around like a pup, you know?”

Spot had frowned and muttered, almost too low for Race to hear him: “Never let it be known that Brooklyn don’t know how to take care of their guests, you hear that Higgins?”

Race had heard it. 

The comment, in whatever way it had been intended for Race to interpret, had left him with the warm feeling of being looked after. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself, of course. He had always been quite capable of that. Nonetheless, having someone watch his back without expecting anything in return was not so bad. 

The train rattles to a stop and Race steps out onto the platform. The subway station is quite full, people hurrying on and off trains without paying attention to Race as he begins to walk upstairs, above ground. He thinks about how easy it is to make his way across town. Back then, it would take ages for Race to get to Brooklyn, and yet… He had still done it, every day. Of course, when anybody had asked about it, he had said that Sheepshead’s had the best sales. And they had, no doubt, at least for him. But deep down - maybe so deep that Race hadn’t even admitted it to himself - there had been other reasons as well. And one of those reasons is now sitting in a coffee shop, two untouched cups of coffee in front of him and with a stoic, neutral look on his face as Race enters. 

“Hi,” Race says. Spot looks up and blinks when he sees him. 

“Oh,” he says, as if surprised Race actually showed up. “Hey.”

“That for me?” Race asks and nods towards one of the cups. Spot nods and Race sits down. “Thanks, I’ve been craving coffee for hours.”

Spot smiles as Race sips the coffee and makes a satisfied face. “Yeah, that’s the stuff right there,” he opens his eyes and looks at Spot. “So, uh…”

Spot sits up a little straighter. “Yeah. I, I felt like we should talk.”

Race raises his eyebrow. Talking? Having an honest discussion about feelings and thoughts? Maybe Spot has changed a bit in this lifetime. Race has no memories about them actually talking about what they were doing, back in 1899. Not that they ever did anything. It had been unspoken, ignored. They had always gone around bragging about how brave they were, but at the end of the day they had both been too scared to take that last step towards each other. It had only taken one hundred and twenty years for them to get their shit together. 

_“Spotty?”_

_“Yeah, Racer?”_

_Race chews at the end of his cigar. It has not yet been lit, as it is his last one and he wants to save it. The brick wall is cold against his back, and Spot’s face is half hidden by the dark shadows. They are sitting as close as they can while still not mentioning it, their arms pressed against each other and Race’s worn shoe brushing against Spot’s whenever he moves slightly._

_“You ever think…” Race tries, but can’t bring himself to keep going._

_Spot is looking at him. “Think what?”_

_Race swallows. “You ever think we’s just… fooling ourselves here?”_

_Something makes Race unable to meet Spot’s gaze. He sounds guarded when he answers:_

_“Fooling ourselves about what, Higgins?”_

_Race takes note of the use of his last name, and quickly backtracks. “You know what, it don’t matter.” He rises from the ground with a sigh, and glances out of the alleyway to see if anyone is around. No one is. Both of them growing up in the city had lead to them knowing the best secluded places. Race turns back and offers his hand to Spot. “Walk me to the bridge?” he asks, hoping against hope that Spot will._

_Spot looks at him for a second before accepting the hand and pulling himself up. “Of course.”_

Spot’s face comes back into view. Race shakes his head slightly to get his thoughts in order and then clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Look, I’m, uh… I’m sorry about last time.”

Spot shakes his head. “No, don’t worry about it, I should have…” He struggles with the words for a moment. Race can’t help but note how frustrated he looks. “It’s okay,” he finishes lamely. 

Race nods. His heart is doing double flips. 

“So, how are you feeling?” Spot asks. Race makes a questioning face at him and he gestures. “Well, you did throw up last time we met.”

Race mentally facepalms. Yeah, of course. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Lightweight, you know.” He shrugs. Spot nods. 

“Oh, right,” he says, as if Race’s drinking-habits are something he should have known about, or remember. “Anyway,” he continues with a slightly stiff smile. “I’m glad you’re better.”

Race smiles. “Thanks.”

They continue to sit there, talking about everything expect the things they should be talking about, and Race wonders how their relationship can have changed in one hundred and twenty years and still have stayed the same in so many ways. Now technically strangers, getting to know each other again, but still avoiding facing their feelings just like they did back then. 

Race thinks it’s just as many parts sad as it is a relief to face something so familiar as lying to Spot about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa there we go, our favorite journalist is here!!!
> 
> Leave kudos and comments to let me know if you liked this chapter!! Thank you for reading<3
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They have become a pretty large group of people who are trying to make sense of their situation. Romeo might have been joking, but it’s getting harder and harder keeping track of who remembers and who doesn’t by the day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the commentssssss
> 
> This is a ong one, so I hope you enjoy!!

With the help of Katherine’s own research, and getting access to the school register system, it becomes a lot easier to find people. 

JoJo is relatively easy to track down, even though no one actually remembers his full name. (“It was, uh…. Well, something latino, wasn’t it?” “Wow, I never would have thought a second generation immigrant from Latin America would have a latino name, great detective work, Al.”) Turns out there are not many people with names that fit the nickname JoJo. Jorgelino Josephino De La Guerra is pleased but confused by the group of people enthusiastically greeting him as he’s working a shift in the college gym. He turns even more confused when the shortest one of them actually bursts into tears when he sees him, and then turns on his heel and walks out. The rest of the group walks out shortly after, telling JoJo how sorry they are. JoJo isn’t entirely sure what they are sorry for, and neither is the group.

Finding Finch is not intentional, but it is a pleasant surprise. Albert and Crutchie goes to a bar at campus one night, and there is Finch, wiping down glasses and taking orders. He doesn’t recognize them. The two of them goes home soon after, no longer in the mood for drinking. Finch is crossed out on their list, but put down on another, new list: _People who don’t remember yet._ They also vow to never go to that bar ever again if they can help it.

Elmer is found in the registers, and they are very easy to both find and befriend as they’re in the committee of one of the school’s LGBTQ+-groups. They are the same kind, smiling and a little bit naive person they had been in 1899. But they don’t remember yet. They have no clue of the real reason why Mush and Blink are at that meeting, or why they seem both happy and sad when they shake hands and Elmer only smiles politely at them. 

Mush leaves his number, telling them to call if they need it, no matter what time of day it was. Elmer is somewhat confused by this, but something makes them trust those two boys. So when, only a day later, they wake up sweating and with a pounding headache, they dial Mush’s number without a second thought and sobbs on the phone with him for well over an hour. 

The day after, they both met up for a coffee on campus. 

Elmer’s usual smile spread quickly to Mush, even if the subject was anything from cheerful.

“Maybe it’s my duty to say this as a part of the committee of Queer New Yorkers, but… You and Blink were very brave, you know.”

Mush is taken aback, to say the least. Having it be acknowledged like this makes him unsure of what to say next. “You… you knew?” Elmer nods. Mush stares at them for a couple of seconds, and then puts his head in his hands. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Elmer.”

Elmer gently pats Mush’s arm. “Why are you sorry?” they ask. 

Mush looks up. “For the jokes. For teasing you. You weren’t an idiot, you aren’t. You know that?”

Elmer laughs at that. 

They reintroduce Smalls to their group, who is just as tiny and tempered as she had been in 1899. The two of them bring a new air of energy, making everyone more and more enthusiastic. Now, after a surprisingly short amount of time, they have become a pretty large group of people who are trying to make sense of their situation. Romeo might have been joking, but it’s getting harder and harder keeping track of who remembers and who doesn’t by the day.

And it’s definitely getting harder and harder keeping Jack and Specs from finding anything out. No one, except for Romeo of course, is that worried about Specs. Yes, he figures something is up and he wants to know what it is, but he also understands that no one will tell him, and he has kind of accepted that by now. That doesn’t mean he will stop trying to get Romeo to say something from time to time, though, and it doesn’t mean Romeo is any less stressed every time that happens. 

“You tell me when you are ready,” Specs says one morning, but the look he gives Romeo makes it clear that he is still a bit disappointed in the lack of information provided. Romeo walks out of the dorm as quickly as he can, just to get away from those eyes. 

Jack, on the other hand, is anything but chill. He doesn’t bring it up often, but everybody in his close proximity can tell when he’s bothered by something. Race walks in on him pacing around the floor one afternoon, Mush has to call five times for Jack to pick up, and Crutchie reports to the others that Jack’s paintings nowadays are only of misty landscapes with breathtaking mountains. 

“You actually think he’s gonna go through with it?” Davey asks Crutchie and Race one day, all three of them hanging out in Crutchie’s living room. “I mean, Santa fe is…” he trails off, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. 

Race hums and clicks his pen a few times. “Jack can do what he wants,” he says, eyes carefully fixed on the TV. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Yeah, you do,” Crutchie says with a small smile. “All of us do, don’t try to act like we don’t.”

Race doesn’t answer at first, only continues clicking his pen with a frown. He has been fidgety for weeks. He really didn’t choose a good time to quit smoking. “Maybe I could sneak into his room when he’s not there and burn the paintings,” he suggests suddenly, making Crutchie snort. 

“What would that achieve?” Davey asks with a small frown. He has a hard time telling when Race is joking and when he’s not.

“Not much,” Race admits. “But maybe it’ll send a message. And give me a lot of satisfaction.”

The others can tell Jack is bothered by something - that much is obvious - but they haven’t really looked into why. Both in their last life and this life, Jack has always been such a big enough part of their everyday life that it’s weird when he isn’t there. But it doesn’t feel the same when he’s with them, either. Not even counting the fact that he doesn’t know Davey, Elmer or Smalls. Or Katherine, who he meets one day when she joins them at the library. 

“Hey, everybody I got some- oh.”

Katherine stops in front of the table. She is holding her books closely to her chest and her eyes flicker from the people sitting around the table. Jack, who is procrastinating studying for his midterm, looks up. Crutchie, Romeo, Albert and Smalls do the same. 

“Hello,” Jack says. The others inspect his reactions with great interest. In 1899 Jack had been painfully obvious about his attraction to Katherine, to the point where it had become a little bit pathetic - albeit still quite funny - to watch. The days it had taken until she started reciprocating his feelings were filled of him messing up and not understanding how to get her to like him. No matter what he claimed, Jack had been pretty awful at flirting.

“You’re Jack?” Katherine asks with a smile that is so neutrally polite that no one would have been able to tell she’s acting if they didn’t know. Maybe Crutchie should consider casting her in one of his future productions. 

“I am,” Jack says while still looking up at Katherine. He looks mildly confused and also a bit flattered. Crutchie wants to roll his eyes when he puts on one of his usual charming smiles. “And you? You got a name?”

Katherine sits down at the table next to Crutchie. “Katherine Plumber,” she says. “English lit. Senior.”

Jack nods slowly, eyes still fixed on her. Everybody around the table are giving each other looks that vary from badly contained glee to actual uncomfortableness.  
They make it through almost an hour of studying without anything happening. Katherine passes a small note to Crutchie soon after she has arrived, explaining that she found some more information about Finch in this age, and that it was why she’d come there. If Jack notices this exchange, he doesn’t mention it. Crutchie can tell he does spend some time looking at Katherine with a somewhat frustrated face, as if facing a riddle he can’t solve. After awhile, Katherine excuses herself with the explanation of needing a snack, and hastily leaves the table. As soon as she is out of earshot, Jack leans over the table. “Who is she?”

Crutchie quickly glances at the others, who look just as panicky as he is feeling. 

“Uh,” he starts with no plan on how to continue. “She’s a friend? She, ah, well, we met her when she was…”

“She is taking this class I am really interested in,” Romeo cuts in. “Medieval literature.” When Jack still looks like he won’t let the topic die, he takes a deep breath and prepares to go into full rambling-mode. “It’s a really fascinating class actually, did you know that in England during the Medieval times only priests and-”

“Okay,” Jack holds up a hand to silence Romeo. “I don’t need to hear all the details, thanks Romeo.”

Romeo mutters something about no one appreciating his quirky characteristics. 

“It’s not ‘quirky’ if it’s just annoying,” Albert says with a small grin, and Romeo shoves him lightly. 

“Rude, Al. Who was it that helped you with your _very important_ historic research again?” He gives Alber a meaningful look.

Albert quickly glances at Jack and mumbles something no one can make out. Romeo smiles as if he’s won the argument and not just almost blown their cover.

“Anyway,” Jack says and waves aside the odd comment, to Crutchie’s relief. “It’s weird, I feel like I recognize her, you know? Maybe I’ve seen her around campus?”

Crutchie can feel his face heating up, and quickly averts his eyes to the notes in front of him. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jack’s pensive look makes Crutchie’s skin crawl. Everything reminds him too much of last time. 

Jack had always been intrigued by Katherine, ever since the first time he met her. Crutchie has a faint memory of one late night, laying on the rooftop next to Jack, a stolen bottle provided by Bill passed between them. Jack had always been a sappy drunk, in both lifetimes. 

“Her intellect, you know?” he had said, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a way that made Crutchie feel like he wasn’t supposed to be listening to this, that it was too private. “She is so smart, Crutchie. She actually is smarter than me, did you know that?" 

Crutchie had giggled, his own drunkenness making the comment seem a lot funnier. “A lotta people are, Jack.”

Jack had laughed, too. “True.” The stars had been twinkling above them, making them both feel much small and insignificant. 

Crutchie had turned his head slightly, looking at Jack who had suddenly gone quiet. “You really like her, don’t you?”

Jack had been quiet for a moment. He had taken another sip from the bottle. His face had been covered in shadows, only slightly lit by the moon above. The bottle had already been half emptied, and somewhere in the back of his mind Crutchie thought about how they should save the rest for some of the other older newsies. 

The answer had taken slightly longer than it should have. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

The library is still full of people, Jack is still sitting there deep in thought, and the others around the table are still glancing at each other without knowing what to do. Crutchie can feel his throat drying out after swallowing too many times, and he quickly grabs his crutches to stand up. “Uh, I… I need a break. Be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for a response he makes his way out through the entrance to get some fresh air. It is colder than he expected it to be, and he shudders slightly as he stops outside the library. He stretches a bit, takes a few deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal. Race has mentioned this happening to him a couple of times; flashes of memories suddenly there, forcing their way into the front of his brain and leaving him shaky and tired. Crutchie leans back against the cool brick wall. Is this how life is going to be now? Constantly exhausted, not being able to stay calm even for one afternoon?

He is about to go back inside again, since the coldness of the wall stings his back. Then he notices he’s not alone out there. “Katherine?”

She glances up quickly, but relaxes when she sees who it is. She is standing slightly hunched over, a hand on the wall. Her hair is ruffled and her cheeks blotchy. 

“Are you okay?” Crutchie asks hesitantly, not really sure what he’s supposed to do. 

“Great,” Katherine smiles. “I just wasn’t expecting…” She gestures towards the building. “A shock, that’s all.”

Crutchie nods while at the same time not being entirely sure if he’ll ever understand what she means. Katherine takes a deep breath and composes herself a bit by straightening up and combing through her hair with her fingers. Crutchie wants to stop her from going back inside in some way, but he doesn’t know any way he can help this situation.

“Jack, he… I’m sure he’ll remember, soon.” He can feel how weak the promise sounds, even to his own ears. 

Katherine smiles thinly at him. “Yeah,” she says, but her eyes are somewhat distant. “Of course he will.” She smiles. “Thanks, Crutchie.”

They go back inside together.

Every time Jack spends time with them as a group, the tension is a bit… off. It’s the same with Specs. Everybody is careful of what they say or do, so they won’t give anything away. During the course of the weeks that follow there are countless instances where Jack or Specs walk in on the rest of the group, who then go suspiciously quiet. 

“It’s weird,” Jack says one night. “But… why do I feel like we are being left out of something?”

Specs looks up from his phone. They are both at the bar. Jack’s eyes are fixed on their friends. They have pressed everybody inside a booth nearby and are chatting excitedly with each other.

“Yeah, we are,” Specs says matter-of-factly. “Romeo won’t tell me what’s wrong, though.”

Jack hums. “Why won’t they say anything to us, you think?”

Specs sighs and shakes his head. His own feelings on the matter are way too jumbled and confused for him to make any sense of. “I don’t know,” he says. “But, I mean… They’ll tell us when they want to, I guess.”

Jack furrows his eyebrows and looks back at Specs. “What, you’re just gonna sit here and let them get away with excluding us?”

“They’re not-”

“They are!” Jack takes a sip from his beer. “Not only that, we’re being replaced. Can’t you see it?”

Specs stares at where Jack is gesturing. “What, Davey and the others?”

Jack’s eyes are once again fixed on the group of people. Elmer and Smalls are sitting next to each other, both in the mid of a enthusiastic telling of a story, if their wildly gesticulating hands are anything to go by. Specs can see Jack’s eyes following Davey, who is standing up and walking towards the bathroom.

“I wanna know why he suddenly became their best friend,” Jack mutters. 

Specs raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “And by ‘them’, you actually mean Crutchie, right? And Race?”

Jack splutters indignantly. “I do not!”

Specs rolls his eyes. “You’re jealous because your best friends are spending more time with someone else. That’s normal, Jack. You should just… try to be nice to them.”

To his dismay, Jack laughs at that. It’s bitter and feels weird in Specs’ ears. “Sure, because you’ve been trying so hard to become best pals with them, have you?” Specs doesn’t answer, only looks down at his phone again.

Jack mutters something Specs can’t make out and then grabs his glass from the bar. “Come on.” He takes a firm grip of Specs’s arm and drags him towards the booth.

“What are you doing?” Specs asks. 

“Doing what you told me to,” Jack says. “And proving a point in the meantime: that they don’t want us there.” 

Specs only has time to sigh in exasperation before they’re standing next to the booth. 

“Hey, everybody!” Jack greets them with a wide smile. “How are we doing tonight?”

“Oh, Jack!” Mush exclaims and glances around the table, which has fallen silent. “We didn’t even notice you arrived.”

Jack’s smile turns a bit sour, but he doesn’t comment. 

“Got any room for us?” Specs asks Romeo, who is sitting at the end of the booth. He looks at Specs and gestures at the seat beside him without saying anything. Specs sits down. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” he says. 

Romeo gives him a slightly surprised look. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Specs says. “Where were you last night?”

“Oh,” Romeo waves aside Specs’ concern. “I slept at Al’s, it got a bit late.” He doesn’t meet Specs’ eyes.

Specs nods. “Okay, that’s… that’s cool.”

Romeo feels really bad. Every time he’s around Specs, he can feel the guilt pressing down on him like a blanket, suffocating him. He needs to tell him. He can’t go around lying to him like this. 

He can almost feel the words forcing their way out of his throat like vomit. He glances around the booth, but no one seems to be paying attention to him. Specs is staring down into the table, a small line between his eyebrows. Romeo bites lip bottom lip. “Uh, Specs - Ow!”

Blink’s single visible eye is staring stoically at Romeo. He can almost hear the warning voice inside his head: _“Don’t even fucking think about it.”_

Romeo makes a face at him, but end up turning away slightly from Specs. He doesn’t dare to continue the conversation now.

Specs feels his heart make a weird twist when Romeo turns away from him, but puts on a smile and turns his attention to the rest of the table instead. Jack has sat down next to Mush, but doesn’t seem that interested in being social in any way that’s not making grumpy faces. Katherine and Smalls are involved in a conversation that Specs overhears. Elmer is sitting next to Smalls, also listening intently.

“-and that’s why I wrote it, essentially. Even ignoring the historic aspects of it, it’s still difficult for many women to be taken seriously at work nowadays, right?”

Smalls nods enthusiastically, her bangs following her head’s movements as she does. “Yeah, exactly! I mean, I had this summer job at a hardware store last summer, and you wouldn’t believe how many people thought I didn’t know what I was doing, just because I’m a woman.”

“That’s especially ridiculous,” Elmer cuts in, putting an arm around Smalls’ shoulder, “Since Smalls has been building her own furniture and stuff since she was, what, ten? She’s super talented.”

Smalls smiles at them. “Thank you, Elmer.” She turns back to Katherine. “So I agree with your key points, absolutely, but it’s just…” She hesitates for a moment, but Katherine motions for her to go on. 

“Come on, I can take a bit of constructive criticism,” she says with a small laugh. 

Smalls makes a face. “Well, the only problem I found with it is... I mean, all of your observations are based on your own experiences, right?”

Katherine furrows her brows. “Well, yeah-”

“Maybe-” Smalls continues. “-You could make another article, a follow-up of sort, to highlight women of different backgrounds and how their struggles in the workplace differ from yours? Women of colour, queer women, trans women...” She smiles kindly at Katherine. “Not to invalidate you, trust me, but talking about the experiences of one upper middle-class white woman only takes you so far if you want things to actually change.”

Katherine nods slowly, considering this. “You know, you are right. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll definitely talk to my editor.” She makes a face. “It was hard getting him to agree with me writing the first article, so I don’t know if he’ll approve of it. He’s… kind of an ass, honestly.”

“Well, I can talk to some of the women I know from my LGBTQ-group,” Elmer offers. “Maybe some of them would be interested.”

Specs, who is still listening, decides to cut in. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about that article that was published in the school newspaper last month?”

Katherine looks surprised at his comment, but smiles. “Yes! I wrote that. Have you read it?”

Specs laughs. After the amount of time he’s spent writing the essay, the question of whether or not he has read that specific article is almost ridiculous. 

“Yeah, I have! I used it as a reference in a paper I’m writing for my class in gender studies.” He clears his throat and sticks his hand out. “I don’t think we were actually ever properly introduced. I’m Specs.”

Katherine looks at him for a second, her smile still warm. She shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Katherine Plumber, it’s nice to meet you.” Specs also formally introduces himself to Smalls and Elmer, who both enthusiastically shake his hand. 

“So, Specs,” Katherine says, leaning forward over the table slightly. “I would love to hear more about this paper you mentioned, what’s your thesis?”

As Specs throws himself into explaining his idea and the sources he has used, Romeo is watching him quietly, his chest hurting as he listens to Specs and Katherine talk.  
Mush elbows him softly in the side. “You okay?” he asks softly, remembering his conversation with Romeo about Specs. Romeo smiles at him and nods stiffly. 

“I’m good,” he promises. “I need another drink though.” He rises and makes his way out of the booth, climbing in front of Specs who almost doesn’t notice him as he’s talking with Katherine.

The bar is quite full when Romeo gets there, so it takes a couple of minutes until he gets the chance to order his drink. Looking back at the booth, he sees Specs still deep in discussion with Katherine. He turns back towards the bar-man. “You know what, can you make that a double? Thanks.”

He is not jealous, really. He’s just… Not exactly loving the fact that Specs is spending time and bonding with people he should already know. Katherine shouldn’t have to sit there and act like she doesn’t know Specs, and the same goes for Elmer and Smalls. Specs shouldn’t have to feel so left out as Romeo knows he does. It isn’t right, and it really isn’t fair to anyone. 

Back at the booth, Blink and Mush are sitting close together, their legs entangled in each other under the table. No one at the table is giving them much attention, all too involved in their own conversations, and that makes Mush grab hold of Blink’s hand. Race is discussing something with Crutchie, who is eagerly eating fries at the same time. Elmer has abandoned the conversation with Katherine, Smalls, and Specs and instead turns to Blink and Mush. 

“Okay,” they say, a wide, warm smile spreading across their face. “I’ve been dying to ask, you have to spill the details: How long have you two been together?”

Blink can feel his face heat up, and Mush’s smile grows bigger as he looks at his boyfriend. 

“Almost two years, now,” Blink says. “We met during freshman year, started dating a bit after christmas.”

Elmer coos a bit, making both Blink and Mush laugh. “You guys are adorable,” they say. Their pastel green sweater makes them stand out against the black booth and the others’ dark clothing. “But, tell me.” They lean a bit forward as if they are telling Blink and Mush a secret, and their hair falls a bit in front of their eyes. They brush it aside impatiently. “I know this might not be my place to ask, but…” Blink glances at Mush, not sure where this is going. “Have you guys been facing any homophobia at campus?”

They both straighten out a bit. Elmer looks seriously at them. 

“Uh,” Blink says hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”

Elmer lights up a bit, which is a strange sight given the topic. “Oh, well, me and a couple of others in Queer New Yorkers are planning on putting together a sort of pamphlet, or a video maybe, to showcase the discrimination a lot of LGBTQ-people are still facing today.” They shrug. “We are in short supply of queer people in relationships. Anyway, I was just wondering whether or not you had anything to say on the subject.”

Neither Blink nor Mush is sure what to say. 

“Well, I think it’s a bit hard to tell, to be honest, given our… situation.” Blink makes a face. “The changes that has happened during the last hundred years…” shrugs and squeezes Mush’s hand a bit tighter. 

Mush doesn’t say anything. He hates the fact that he is actually still scared. 

Blink sees their relationship from the lense of the 19th century; he’s exhilarated because of how much change has happened, making them able to live freely. Mush can only see it from the perspective of someone living in 2019. He remembers the horrible things that used to be and it only makes him anxious and sad. And a bit paranoid. 

He can feel both Blink and Elmer look at him, and smiles weakly. “Yeah, it’s great.” At the same time he moves an inch away from Blink, making it so they are only connected at their hands. If Blink notices anything, he doesn’t mention it. 

A few minutes pass until David returns. He has his phone in hand as he crosses the bar floor, texting while walking. 

**Sarah to David, 20.53:**  
_I’m stopping by your dorm later, I need that book you borrowed from me!!_

**David to Sarah, 20.56:**  
_Sure, but I won’t be there. You still have the spare key though, right? The book should be on the nightstand._

**Sarah too David, 20.56**  
_Wait are you out??? On a saturday???? Is it A Date?????_

**David to Sarah, 20.56**  
_No, not a date. I’m out having drinks with friends._

**Sarah to David, 20.57**  
_Look at you, socializing!!!! I’m proud of you. I’ll stop by tomorrow instead, don’t worry!!!! Have fun <3_

With a small sigh, David puts his phone back into his pocket. Why does it more often than not feel like Sarah is the older sibling, and not him?

He is slightly taken aback when he sees Jack sitting at the booth, but forces himself to act natural and go on like nothing has changed. 

“Hi, can I sit there?” he asks. Jack looks up at him, pulled from his own thoughts, and looks confused at this request until David motions at the seat next to him. 

“Oh, sure,” he mutters and scooches over a bit to make room for David. David sits down and pulls his drink towards himself, suddenly much more tempted to down it in one go. 

The night has been going great so far. He’s been making actual conversation, mostly with Race and Crutchie. Race and he had gotten into a very interesting discussion about animals - turns out Race had a soft spot for horses. David’s general love for animals didn’t really stretch into the realm of domestic pets, but they nonetheless enjoyed themselves talking about this (almost) shared interest. Then, Jack had come, and now David feels out of place. Like he was just there part time, to take Jack’s place while he was away. 

“So, uh, Davey, was it?” Jack starts. His voice is a bit rough, and David takes another sip from his drink as he feels his mouth go dry. 

“Yeah! Davey, that’s right.” He can’t help but feel a bit disappointed over the fact that Jack hadn’t been sure of his name. 

“What are you majoring in?” Jack asks. 

“English lit,” he says. 

“Cool. You wanna be a writer?”

David smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. I would love to write about animals, I’ve always loved them.”

Jack nods, but David gets the feeling he doesn't actually care. “Animals are… cool.”

David smiles, but it feels forced. A small bead of sweat is making its way down his neck. 

“Yeah. Uh, what about you?”

“Art,” Jack answers shortly, not meeting David’s eyes. “I might actually transfer to an art college out west.” He quickly glances back at David, a sudden reproachful look on his face. “But I might not. I might stay here. After all, all of my friends are here.” He puts an emphasis on the “my”, and finishes by taking a large gulp of his beer to signal the end of the conversation. 

David doesn’t really know how to react. His insides feel all funny sitting next to Jack again, like so many years before. But at the same time he can feel a prickling of self-pity in his stomach, muddled with anxiety. Jack doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s not interested in him. Something has changed in the last one hundred and twenty years, and David can’t tell what. Everything feels out of place, as if someone refurnished the room while he was in the bathroom. Memories and thoughts run through his mind in a jumbled mess, making him unsure of what has actually happened and what his mind is simply making up. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of everything. 

A rooftop, seeing the stars with Jack next to him. That’s real. Jack screaming at him with loathing in his eyes and the others standing behind him, silently cheering him on. That must be fake. Jack’s soft voice telling David all about his drawings and how the mountains looks in Santa fe. Definitely real.

“I need some air,” he mumbles and scoots out of the booth. Jack doesn’t acknowledge this, but he gets a nod and a smile from Crutchie.

Outside of the bar isn’t much quieter, or calmer. Cars are going past, honking and making lots of noise that makes David’s skin crawl. Clatter of people walking can be heard from every direction. To his right is a group of smokers, standing in a circle, talking and yelling over each other. To his left is a couple pressed against the wall. It takes until the couple stops kissing for a moment for David to notice that he actually knows one of them. When he does he kind of shies back, but that only makes the couple notice him, and stop kissing entirely.

“Oh,” Albert says, surprise but no shame whatsoever written over his face. “Hey, Dave.” The girl, who is still holding onto him, looks a bit irritated at the interruption.  
David raises a hand weakly in greeting, and Albert turns and smiles at the girl. “Should we..?” 

She nods and Albert waves goodbye at David before being dragged away by the girl and disappearing behind the corner. If they went to find a better place to make out or if they actually went home is not clear, but David can’t find it in himself to care that much. 

He sighs and shudders slightly in his thin shirt. He hadn’t thought about bringing a jacket when he went outside. His only thoughts had been to leave as fast as possible. The door to the bar opens again. Warm light floods out onto the street, and voices mingled with music sips out into the cool october air. 

“Oh, there you are,” a voice says. David turns and sees Katherine stand there. 

“Um,” he says, but he isn’t sure how to continue. Katherine wasn’t the one he expected to be followed outside by. Not that he really had expected anyone to follow him.

A brisk wind sends a chill up his spine, and Katherine shrugs off the scarf she is wearing over her shoulders. “Here,” she says and holds it out for him. It is dark blue, with woven strands of green and yellow in it. It looks warm with its thick wool, and after a second of hesitation David accepts it. He lays it around his shoulders and sigh happily as it provides a little bit of warmth.

“Thank you.”

Katherine nods and smiles as if it isn’t a big deal. Which, David reasons, it really isn’t. Even though something in his mind makes him feel like it’s a big gesture with lots of meaning behind it. 

“So,” Katherine starts, and David doesn’t really want her to continue. He isn’t sure he wants to talk about Jack. Especially not with Katherine, who is his… what, ex-girlfriend? Can you call her an ex if Jack doesn’t remember dating her?

“So,” David steps in before Katherine says anything. “You finished your conversation with Specs?”

He thinks about Specs’ focused stare and wildly gesturing hands as he explained the bullet points of his paper to Katherine and Smalls. Even if he doesn’t remember yet, he is still giving them a chance. He is still enjoying their company. David can feel how childish he sounds, but he wonders why Jack can’t act like that. 

“I always loved talking to Specs,” Katherine says. “He’s a great friend.”

David nods. “Yeah.”

They are quiet for a moment, both staring out into the street, observing the groups of people walking past on their way to or back from different bars or parties. So many university students, just living their normal lives with their normal classes and normal friends. There is a wall between the group of modern newsies and the other students at this university, just like there is a wall between those who remember and those who don’t. It’s not intentional. It just is. Nothing they can do about it. 

When Katherine speaks again, David is horrified to hear her voice tremble. 

“It’s stupid, because I knew he didn’t remember yet, when I met Romeo and Mush.”

Something in Katherine’s voice makes it clear that she’s not talking about Specs anymore. 

“But,” she continues, pressing her fingers down on her closed eyelids. “There was this small part of me that actually believed he would remember after meeting me again.”

She leaves the comment hanging in the air for a moment. David isn’t sure how to answer. The statement is loaded with so much regret, disappointment, and self contempt that is makes him feel like it could just as well have been himself saying the words.

He can feel Katherine turning her head, looking at him.

“Am I stupid for thinking that?”

With strength he didn’t know he could muster, David slowly returns her gaze. She has tears in her eyes, and it makes them shine under the streetlights. 

“No,” he says with a sigh. “I thought the exact same.”

Katherine looks at him for a long moment. Her eyes are searching him, looking through his soul and plucking apart all of his thoughts and feelings. The feeling of being read like an open book makes David’s skin crawl, and he fidgets a bit where he stands. Katherine nods at last, as if she’s come up with an answer. 

“I should have known,” she says mildly. David notices a change in her voice, wonders if he has said too much.

“What do you mean?” he asks with a slightly guarded expression.

Katherine sighs and looks around. ”Takes one to know one, right?”

David isn’t sure of what to say.

Katherine smiles again, softly and understanding as always. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, and then she glances back at the bar, where a pretty large group of drunk guys are filing out with a roar into the night. “I should go back inside.”

Her hair flicks a bit as she turns around and heads back. David is left standing alone outside of the bar, his hands still pulling the scarf tight around himself.  
Inside of the bar, the situation isn’t any clearer.

The room is spinning. Or is Romeo the one spinning? It doesn’t really matter, he thinks, because he feels sick to his stomach either way. The last drink might have been a slightly bad idea. Or maybe it was a great idea, but Romeo is just too drunk to realize. Yeah, let’s go with that. Good idea. Romeo has lots of good ideas. One good idea he’s having right now is going up to Specs. Because Specs is amazing, Romeo reasons, and Specs always deserves some love. 

“Uh, thanks, Ro,” Specs says with a mild smile. Oh. Romeo did not even notice walking back to the booth, even less actually speaking the words in his mind.  
“’m a bit drunk,” Romeo complains, and Specs pats him on his arm. 

“I can tell.” Specs doesn’t sound very sympathetic, but Romeo is too tired to care that much. He looks around the room and sees that some of its occupants are looking at him with various levels of amusement. Neither Albert nor Davey are there anymore, and Romeo doesn’t know where they’ve gone. 

“Where’s Albie?” Romeo asks Specs. “I wanna tell’im I love him.”

A small laugh escapes Specs mouth at this, and makes Romeo’s insides feel all funny. He likes Specs’ laugh. “You,” Romeo says, pointing at him. “You’re here. I can tell you I love you instead.” He leans forwards until he is very close to Specs’s eyes. They are very pretty, Romeo thinks. “I love you,” he says seriously and then leans back again with the satisfied look of someone completing an important task. 

“Uh, yeah, you… You mentioned that, yeah.” Specs clears his throat. “Albert’s not here. He found a girl, so I think they went home.”

This makes Romeo very happy. Albert is such a great guy, he deserves to sleep with someone. Especially someone who is as great as he is. It also makes Romeo think about himself sleeping with people. 

“I also wanna hook up with someone,” he pouts and looks around the room. His gaze falls on Race, who chokes on his drink. Crutchie pats his back with a snigger. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Race says and then rises. “I gotta go, anyway. Goodnight, you guys.”

Romeo pouts even deeper as Race leaves while typing on his phone. He turns to Specs again. “He didn’t want to sleep with me.”

“No, he didn’t,” Specs says and pats Romeo’s arm comfortingly. “I’m sorry.”

Romeo shrugs, with an air of indifference. “I don’t wanna sleep with him, anyway,” he shakes his head seriously. “No, he’s not my type. I like…” he ponders for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Specs is actually impressed by the way he is still standing up straight. Romeo’s eyes widen. “I like people with glasses!” he exclaims, pointing directly at Specs.

Some of the others snigger as Specs feels his face grow warm. Jack does a wolf whistle. 

“Okay, _Romeo_ ,” Specs says, taking a last sip from his drink and then standing up. “Maybe we should get you home, all right?”

Romeo nods eagerly, and drapes himself across Specs. “Can you carry me?”

Specs pushes Romeo off himself, but keeps a firm hand on his upper arm. “You can walk on your own, Ro.” Romeo pouts again but does as he is told.

After saying goodbye, which takes a bit longer than it should have done with Romeo being overly emotional and wanting to hug everybody twice, they leave the bar. The crisp air outside makes Specs wrap his scarf around his neck a bit tighter, and Romeo to shudder. 

“Are you cold?” Specs asks him. 

Romeo, the idiot, is only wearing a jean jacket. It’s his favorite jacket, Specs notes. He bought it at a second hand shop when he was sixteen, and during the years that have passed since then, the jacket has been filled with hand-embroidered flowers, a couple of patches, and lots of pins in different colours. Romeo loves that jacket, so much that he wears it for way too long into fall, even though he’s constantly cold.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, leaning slightly on Specs. “I’ve got you to keep me warm.” 

Specs doesn’t have the emotional detachment to give Romeo a reaction to that comment, so he just sighs as they start walking home side by side. 

Their dorm is quite close to the bar, luckily, so they don’t have to go on the subway or call a cab to get home. It only takes about fifteen minutes until Specs is unlocking their door and leading Romeo inside. The cold air and brisk walk has made him sober up a little bit, but that doesn’t stop him from walking up to his bed and simply falling onto it, face first. Specs sighs and, after kicking off his own shoes, goes up to Romeo to help him.

“Ro?” 

No reaction. 

Specs sighs again. This was not what he signed up for when he decided to go out for drinks tonight. “Come on, I need to help you get your clothes off so you can sleep.”  
A mumble is heard from Romeo, but the pillows muffle it and makes it indistinguishable. 

“What was that?” Specs pulls off Romeo’s shoes and throws them into a corner. Romeo raises his head a bit. 

“I said that you should always help me out of my clothes, Specs.”

Specs can almost feel the implied winky-face, and snorts. “I thought you were sobering up. That was not a good line, either. Thank god you try them on me before letting anyone else have to deal with them.”

Romeo hums a bit, but doesn’t answer. 

“Sit up,” Specs says and Romeo complies. After getting his jacket and sweatshirt off, Specs feels like he’s done a well enough job and plans to leave Romeo to his inevitable hangover. Romeo seems to have a different idea, though, since he grabs hold of Specs’s arm and pulls him down next to him on the bed. His face is suddenly very close.

“You are…” Romeo starts, but seems to lose the words as he trails off. He is patting Specs softly on his arm. His gaze is a tiny bit unfocused still. “You… You are…. You are great, Specs.”

The usual warm feeling in his chest when he’s around Romeo is spreading throughout his body. Traitor, he thinks to his body when he can feel his face heat up again.  
“Uh, thanks,” he says and makes a motion to stand up, but is once again pulled back by Romeo. 

“No, I need you to hear this.” Romeo sounds surprisingly serious, and suddenly not as drunk as Specs would have expected. His eyes are fixed at Specs’, pupils blown wide. His whole face is open and honest. “You are… so great. And I hate lying to you. And… I don’t think I can, anymore.”

“Romeo…” Specs can feel his heart beating loudly in his chest. He wonders if Romeo can hear it, as well. The boy in front of him is sitting so close that Specs can feel warmth radiating from his body. 

“I need to tell you… everything,” Romeo says. Specs is still. Everything is quiet. Romeo swallows and blinks, eyes dropping out of focus for a second and then meeting Specs’ again. “I’m gonna tell you everything, tonight, I promise you… About 1899, and the strike and our...” he gestures vaguely around the room. “... _other_ life, but…” 

The words don’t make any sense to Specs. Strike? Other life? And what happened in 1899 that is so important for Romeo to tell him? None of it makes any sense. 

Romeo hesitates for one more second, as if he’s not sure how he should finish the sentence. “But… before…” He furrows his eyebrows. Then he shakes his head slightly and presses his lips to Specs’.

Specs’ stomach does about three flips, one right after the other. Romeo’s lips are chapped and dry - but also surprisingly warm given the cold outside - and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat when their mouths connect that sends chills up Specs’ spine. It also suddenly brings him back to reality, and he puts his hands on Romeo’s chest and pushes him back. 

“No,” he says in what he hopes is a gentle tone. Romeo looks up at him. At first he looks confused, but after a second his eyes flash with hurt and next thing he knows Specs notices tears forming. 

“Oh,” he says and swallows. 

Specs quickly shakes his head. “You’re drunk, Ro,” he says soothingly. “I… I can’t, not when you’re drunk.” 

After a moment of silence he pushes his fingers through Romeo’s hair, which is extremely soft. The calming movement makes Romeo’s tensed shoulders drop slightly. 

“I love you,” he mumbles under his breath, his forehead falling slightly forward and connecting with Specs’ chest. Specs might be at the top of some of his classes, but that doesn’t make him knowledgeable of how to react to this. He just continues petting Romeo’s hair for a moment, letting the only thing that can be heard in the room be their mingled breaths. 

“You need to get to sleep,” Specs whispers after a while, and Romeo groans slightly against him. The sound sends vibrations through Specs’ body.

“Don’t wanna.”

Specs smiles softly at this. “Okay,” he mumbles and pushes Romeo away again. He looks like an overtired toddler in the way he sighs discontentedly when Specs helps him lie down. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he says. Romeo doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s already asleep. 

With the body of a newborn deer, Specs shakily rises from the bed, walks over to his own and lies down. The room is dark and quiet, the only thing that can be heard being the sound of cars outside and Specs’ own ragged breath as he is trying to calm down. 

He rolls over to his side. He can see the figure of Romeo lying on the bed across the room. Different thoughts and ideas go through his head at lightning speed, making him feel a bit dizzy. The whole night plays through his mind over and over again, without making him any more clear on what is actually going on. 

The group has discovered something that they can not tell him or Jack about. It has something to do with a strike in 1899. It must also somehow involve the new people joining their group. But how does it all connect? And what did Romeo mean with their “second life”?

And then there’s Romeo on top of all this mess, always making Specs unsure of what to do and what to say. The daunting possibility that Romeo only kissed him because he’s drunk is ever so present as Specs closes his eyes with a small sigh. 

Sleep won’t come easily tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments to let me know if you liked this chapter!!
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s too early to actually be a functioning member of society, Race thinks, but that doesn’t stop him from standing outside Jack and Crutchie’s apartment this sunday morning, waiting for one of them to let him in. If he’s completely honest he would rather be lying in bed right now, sleeping through the morning and a large part of the day. But Katherine had had a different thought on the matter when she had called him thirty minutes ago, asking him if he knew how long Davey had been in love with Jack._

“Open up, fucker, your conscience is here!”

It’s too early to actually be a functioning member of society, Race thinks, but that doesn’t stop him from standing outside Jack and Crutchie’s apartment this sunday morning, waiting for one of them to let him in. If he’s completely honest he would rather be lying in bed right now, sleeping through the morning and a large part of the day. But Katherine had had a different thought on the matter when she had called him thirty minutes ago, asking him if he knew how long Davey had been in love with Jack.

Thinking about it, it makes a lot of sense that Davey is in love with Jack. It makes so much sense that Race is a bit surprised he didn’t realize it earlier. And thinking back to last night, sitting beside Jack and hearing his conversation with Davey, leaves him with only one thing to do. So he is doing it, sleep be damned.

He bangs his fist on the door twice more before remembering there is a working doorbell. He rings it, which after a moment results in a grumbling from inside the apartment, followed by slow steps and then Jack standing in the now open doorway. 

“Whadda you doin’-’ere?” he asks, his voice muffled by a jawn. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, his shirt is inside out, and his pants are nowhere to be seen. A stubble on the chin makes him look even more artistically rugged than usual. 

Race pushes him aside and goes into the apartment. “I’m visiting you,” he says, as if this isn’t obvious, and pulls off his jacket and throws it onto the floor. “Crutchie home?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, rubbing his eyes. “He’s sleeping, dude, we didn’t get home until like, three last night.” He glances at his watch and groans. “Race, it’s nine in the morning, why the fuck are you here? And how are you not hungover after last night?” Race waves the question aside. Jack lets out a long, exaggerated sigh as he moves into the kitchen to put some coffee on. “How early did you get up? It takes ages for you to get here usually.”

“I, uh,” Race hesitates, not sure how to explain that he had thought Spot’s bed to be a very pleasant end to last night. “I slept at a friend’s, they live kind of close by.”

“Uh-huh. So...” Jack drags a hand over his face. “...Why are you here?”

“Oh, right.” Race points a finger at Jack. “I want to yell at you.”

Jack stares. “You’re here because you’re… angry with me?” he guesses. 

Race nods and takes a step forward, hoping to intimidate. Given both the height and muscle Jack has on him, he isn’t sure how well it works. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

Now Jack looks really confused. “What the fuck? What did I do?”

Actual anger starts to flow through Race, and he scoffs. “Do you have any idea how big of a douche you were to Davey last night?”

Jack’s confused look is slowly replaced by a stoic, neutral mask of indifference. “Was I?” he asks and turns to pour the coffee into a mug. “I didn’t mean to.”

Race grabs Jack’s arm and spins him around again, almost spilling the coffee in the process. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but you’ve got to knock it off, man. What the hell has Davey ever done to you?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, he simply works his jaw in silence while staring at Race. 

“He is a great guy,” Race continues, like this isn’t something Jack should know already. “But you treated him like shit and made him feel like shit, and-”

“Ever think about how I’m feeling?” Jack interrupts. 

Race stares at him in disbelief. “Shut up, Jack,” he says hotly, poking a finger into Jack’s chest. “Not everything is about you.”

“No, obviously not!” Jack exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “Since I don’t get to be involved in anything, lately!”

Race leans backwards by the sudden outburst. “What do you mean?” he asks, knowing exactly what Jack means. 

“You are all talking behind my back, acting as if I’m not a part of the group.” Jack sneers. “And then _Davey_ comes, and you all… Just… Let him in like that? Like he isn’t the outsider here?”

The blow at Davey makes Race’s stomach churn. Nothing is right about this situation. Jack shouldn't feel this way about Davey. It's not how it's supposed to be. But he is so jealous that he won’t listen. And who takes the blow? Davey, of course, who has done nothing wrong. But he’s too nice, and cares too much about Jack’s validation to actually face him and tell him he’s being a dick. So that leads to Race deciding he has to do it for him. 

A soft tapping noise coming from the living room stops them just as Race opens his mouth to continue yelling. None of them had realized how loud they were being. Crutchie looks confused and a bit worried when he comes into the kitchen. 

“Uh, good morning,” he says. Race and Jack keep on staring at each other, both silently daring the other to continue the fight. None of them do. Crutchie looks at them. “Are you guys okay?” he asks softly. 

Race glances back at him. “Sorry for waking you, Crutchie,” he says and walks past him into the hallway. “I’m leaving, don’t worry.”

“Where are you going?” Crutchie asks, following him. Jack stays in the kitchen, staring straight ahead. 

“To Spot’s,” Race says, and bends down to pick up his jacket. 

“Spot? Spot _Conlon?_ Wait, Race!” Crutchie tries to grab a hold of Race’s arm, but fails as Race hastily pulls away. 

“Yeah, Spot Conlon.” He gets a sick sort of satisfaction in making Crutchie look both surprised and impressed. 

“Since when are you friends with Spot Conlon?” he asks. Race ignores him and pulls on his jacket with much more force than necessary. The bubbling anger is still present in his body, and he feels the need to get out of the apartment as fast as possible. 

Jack comes out into the hallway. “I thought you said you and Spot weren’t a thing,” he says, obviously having heard the conversation from the kitchen. 

Race almost feels like laughing at the accusing tone he has taken on. “Like I have to tell you everything,” he snarls, making Jack take a small step back. “And… we’re not.”

Cruthie succeeds in grabbing a hold of Race’s arm before he leaves, and he leans forward a bit. “Does Spot know?” he whispers, looking seriously at Race. 

Race sighs, irritably. He just wants to _leave,_ why won’t they let him? “No, he…” But then suddenly something stops him mid-sentence. A thought hits him, growing into an unpleasant feeling spreading through his body. “I… Oh. I need to go.” He grabs for the handle, but stops last second and instead glances back at Jack. “You need to get your head out of your ass, dude, and stop acting like a kicked puppy. Talk to Davey, apologize.” He shakes his head. “And for fuck’s sake, grow up, will you?”

He turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him as he does. 

*

Romeo wakes up to Specs cleaning. Which is… okay, let’s be honest here. Not really a common occurrence. 

Not that Specs is an unorganized person. Neither is Romeo, not really. They both love having a clean room. But they rarely have the time or energy to actually clean. Romeo usually just leaves and crashes at a friend’s place, hoping the room will have magically been tidied up by the time he gets home. Specs prioritizes studying, and just goes to the library or a café when the mess becomes too much to deal with. But now, he’s cleaning.

Romeo sits up slowly. Specs hasn’t noticed him yet. His bed is filled with piles of books and papers, and he is slowly going through them and organizing them in different heaps. With a tired sigh, Romeo stretches a bit and pops his back as he does. Specs stops and spins around. He has a book on European monarchy in his hand. 

“Morning,” Romeo mumbles, stifling a yawn. 

“Uh. Good morning.” Specs clears his throat. “Hangover?”

Right. Hangover. Just as Specs mentions it, the throbbing in Romeo’s head makes a sudden appearance. He groans slightly and nods. “Yeah, fucking hell. Got any water?”  
Specs nods towards the desk, where a glass of water and an aspirin is waiting. Romeo stands up, a little wobbly, and grabs the glass. He swallows the aspirin and drinks the water in one go. 

When Romeo has put the glass down again he looks up at Specs, who is quietly observing him. He is just about to ask why he’s acting so weird when the memories from last night resurface in his mind. 

“Shit,” he says under his breath. 

Specs sighs slightly. “I think we need to talk,” he says.

Romeo, whose mouth has gone very dry despite the water he just drank, nods mutely. Specs gestures to Romeo’s bed, and when it’s clear that he won’t be moving anytime soon, gently leads him to sit down. 

“So, the things you said last night…” Specs starts, taking off his glasses and wiping them.

Romeo can’t stop thinking about what a fucking idiot he is. Did he really tell Specs about the strike? About their other life? Holy fuck, the others are gonna kill him. Not even figuratively, he’s going to actually die. And holy mother of God, had he really kissed Specs? And told him he loved him? 

Great. If the others don’t kill him, he will probably die of humiliation. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbles. “The others-”

Specs puts up a hand to silence him. “I don’t care about the others, right now. You told me, uh, things about a strike? And 1899?”

Romeo shakes his head, closing his eyes as if this will shield him from facing his mistake. “Specs-”

“So I googled a bit, right?” Specs interrupts. He bites his lips, still wiping his glasses even though they are more than clean. “And I…” He stops, his throat wobbling a bit. Romeo sighs in defeat and grabs hold of his hands. He gently takes his glasses from his anxious grip and puts them on his nose. His fingers rest by Specs’ face for a moment longer than necessary, before he drops them into his own lap. 

“Yes, okay. I will tell you.” 

And he does. He tells Specs everything. He starts explaining everything that has happened over the past couple of months, starting with Albert needing help with historic research, which triggered Romeo remembering. He tells Specs about Davey, Katherine, Elmer and Smalls, and not only them, but everyone else that they haven’t found yet. And of course, about 1899. Their lives, their friends, their enemies, the city, the lodging house, the strike. Anything that is important to tell, Romeo explains. And the funny thing is, for every word he speaks, the lighter he feels. His voice goes sore after droning on, but Specs doesn’t stop him, so he doesn’t slow down until he has explained every last detail he thinks is important. 

At last, he goes quiet, chest rising and falling rapidly. He waits for Specs to say something. A part of him wonders if anything he said could have triggered him to remember. He hopes it has. Everything would be so much easier to face if he had him by his side. 

But when Specs opens his mouth, the only thing he says is: “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

His voice is quiet, soft, with a hint of bitterness. Romeo doesn’t know what to say. How can he make this better in any way? He really can’t. There is nothing that makes this situation any less hard than it is. 

“I don’t know, darling, I… I don’t know.” Romeo grabs his hands once again and squeezes them. He remembers Specs’ soothing touch the night before, threading his fingers through Romeo’s hair to calm him, and thinks how much he’d like to return the gesture in some way. But he isn’t sure what to do, so he just continues holding his hands. “Are you okay?”

Specs stares straight ahead. “It’s just hard to picture, I guess,” he mumbles. “Myself, in that time. I can’t really...” He stops, shaking his head slowly.

Romeo gasps softly. “Oh, I can help you with that!” 

He shoots up from the bed, startling Specs as he does, and runs up to his backpack. He brings out a binder filled with notes and, much to his satisfaction, a picture. It is not the original picture, but a simple A4 copy he made at the library. It’s black and white, and a bit frayed in the edges after living through the newsies passing it around to look at it more clearly. It’s the picture Katherine had had taken of them, right before the bulls had arrived and they all had gotten beat up. They are all standing together as a group, facing the camera with big, proud smiles covering their faces. Fists in the air, torn papes all around them, looking satisfied with a job well done. Romeo gets a sort of melancholy happiness when he looks at it, as he thinks of the kids who got hurt just moments after that picture had been taken. He thinks of himself, getting thrown to the ground and not being able to get up.

He shakes his head, taking himself back to reality. Now is not a good time to get stuck in memories. 

He brings the picture to Specs and points at it. “That’s me, and that there… Is you.”

Specs stares at it for a few moments. Romeo can see the gears turn in his head. It takes almost a minute before Specs shakes his head slightly. “I- I don’t know, Ro, it just feels… unbelievable.” Romeo can feel his stomach drop slightly, but he doesn’t let it show.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” he says softly and takes back the photo from Specs. He can see his hands are shaking slightly.

“Okay, let’s say this all is real.” There is a heavy hint of doubt in Specs’s voice. “How…” he struggles to find the words, and ends up lamely gesturing between them. “Uh, we, were we…?”

Romeo swallows. Okay, they are having this conversation. “Oh. Not… not like this. I mean, not… Not romantically. I didn’t even know I was queer back then, I mean, how could I have?” He shakes his head with a small, bitter, laugh. “No, that wasn’t really something I ever let myself consider.”

Specs nods, slowly. “And the others?”

“The others?” 

Romeo thinks about Blink and Mush, who have been getting more and more private with their affection since remembering. He thinks about Race, who refuses to talk about Spot, even though everybody is aware that _something_ is going on there. “I know Blink and Mush were… but they don’t really talk about it.”

Specs nods. “But…” He looks up at Romeo. “Last night…”

Romeo swallows thickly and looks down at his lap. He can feel a flush spread across his face. “Yeah. Last night. I, uh… I hadn’t really meant for you to find out that way.”

It takes a moment for him to gather enough courage to look up. Specs is smiling slightly. “But you wanted me to find out?” he asks carefully.

Romeo’s whole body is shivering, and he swallows thickly. “Of course I wanted you to.” He copies the smile hesitantly. 

Specs nods slowly and takes a deep breath as if preparing to jump off a cliff. “Okay, so…” he tilts his head slightly, still looking at Romeo closely. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Romeo’s smile only grows wider. “Yeah, that would definitely be okay.”

Kissing Specs is so much better when he’s not drunk.

*

Race walks quickly down the street, his whole body jittery and filled with energy and left-over adrenaline. The fight with Jack had been… weird. And confusing. It had also been surprisingly satisfying. Yelling, and having someone to focus his anger on, makes him feel better than he has for the last month. And Jack had deserved it, at least to some extent. 

There is one thing that sticks with him, though, as he rounds a corner and comes up to the right street. What Crutchie had asked, about Spot remembering. Because Race hasn’t seriously considered that possibility before now. He always assumed Spot didn’t know anything about their past life, or he would have reacted differently that morning after the party. But, looking back… Race had been so freaked out that he hadn’t even let Spot get a word in, much less give Race any sort of explanation. 

A part of his mind wants to think that if Spot remembered, he would have told him already. But that’s not necessarily true either. After all, Race hasn’t told Spot about 1899. So why would it be different the other way around? 

No matter the logistics behind it, a seed of doubt has started to grow in Race’s mind, and now he can’t stop thinking about the possibility of Spot remembering. Without Race’s brain even registering it, his legs make a decision for him and he heads in the opposite direction of the subway station. In the same direction he had come from before visiting Jack.

For the second time that morning, he rings a doorbell and waits outside for someone to open. His fingers are tapping on his legs. He hears the sound of steps from inside. After only a short moment, Spot is standing in the doorway. He looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Oh, Race!” he says and immediately steps aside to let Race in. 

He has dressed since Race left only half an hour ago, and probably showered if you take the wet hair into account. His t-shirt and jeans look casually attractive, which Race finds extremely unfair.

“You’re back quickly,” he notes. “Miss me already?” He is smirking a bit, which makes Race want to punch him in the face. 

Or kiss him. 

What. 

Race stands in the middle of the hallway, but it’s much smaller than Jack’s and Crutchie’s, so he and Spot are much closer than he had expected them to be. Spot is looking expectantly at him, obviously waiting for an explanation as to why he’s returned. 

Oh, if only Race knew, himself. 

The only thing that comes to mind is the thing that has been running through his mind since he left Jack’s and Crutchie’s apartment. 

Spot puts his hands in his pocket. “Uh, so, what are you-”

“1899.” Race says the words with an air of finality, which makes sense, because - one way or another - this will put an end to his jumbled thoughts on the subject.

Spot blinks in surprise. “1899?” he asks slowly. 

His eyes are carefully scanning Race’s face. To an untrained eye, it might look like he is just asking what the hell Race is talking about, but Race has known him in two lifetimes. He knows Spot better than a lot of people do. And he knows that Spot knows exactly what he’s talking about. There is something in his eyes, the hesitant glimmer of hope, that makes Race completely sure. 

“Yeah,” he says, and without letting himself over-think his actions he crashes into Spot’s chest to hug him tightly. “1899.”

It takes a couple of moments until Spot’s arms curl around Race, but when they do they hold on tighter than Race thought was possible. Given the fact that Race is taller than Spot, it really shouldn’t be this comfortable curling into Spot’s embrace, but something makes it work. Engulfed in warmth, closeness, and security, he closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” Spot mumbles into Race’s hair. His breath tickles Race’s neck, making him shiver. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, either,” Race mumbles. 

They need to talk. There are things that they should discuss. Spot has been completely left out so far, so there’s a lot he has to be caught up on. And then there’s the complications of feelings, and how their old life changes everything with their relationship. 

But for now, it’s easier to just hold each other and leave the troubles for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAA thank you all for the comments I've gotten. I'm so glad that so many people seem to be enjoying this story!!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Say hello on tumblr! @pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you okay?”_
> 
> _“Of course I’m okay,” Mush says with a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”_

“Are you okay?”

Mush looks up from his book. The frown lines on Blink’s face are deeper than usual as he watches Mush. He has pulled his eyepatch back - as he sometimes does when he’s alone with Mush - revealing the white scar that crosses over the eyelid. The eye itself is as usual clear and unseeing. With it’s stark light color it contrast with his other eye, which is looking at Mush. 

Mush is taken back to freshman year, like he often is when he starts thinking about Blink’s eyepatch. He had been fascinated by it, mostly because he had never seen anyone actually wear one outside of costumes. “Can I ask you…” he had said one night, when they had been watching a movie, just the two of them. 

Blink had grinned knowingly at him. “The eyepatch?” he had guessed, and Mush had blushed by how obvious he had been. “Don’t worry, everybody asks eventually.” He had taken a good look at Mush and then pulled the eyepatch back. “Accident when I was a kid made me blind on that eye, the surgery left permanent scarring.” 

“But why the eyepatch?”

Blink had shrugged and motioned for Mush to look closer. “Light sensitivity. And besides, if I wear it people are curious rather than scared.” He had smiled, and Mush had furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I’m not scared,” he had promised. That had made Blink’s smile melt into something a bit more genuine.

Now, Blink’s hair is wet from the shower, and he looks deep in thought. Mush can’t help but think of how soft he looks like this, with Mush’s hoodie and a pair of old pyjama pants. He is wearing a friendship-bracelet on his wrist that Mush recognizes as one he has made. A sudden warmth spreads through his body at this. The fact that Blink has not only kept the bracelet, but is actually wearing it, is really adorable.

“Of course I’m okay,” Mush says with a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Blink shrugs and leans down to place a soft kiss on his lips. “You were a bit off last night.”

Once again, Mush is almost amazed by how well in tune they are. He can’t remember the last time they failed to notice if one of them was feeling bad for whatever reason. It’s both a blessing and a curse, though, he notes, as he realizes that the time has come to have this conversation.

“Uh, yeah. A bit.” he closes his book and sits up a little straighter in the bed. Blink looks surprised for a brief second, and then sits down at the desk chair without a word. 

Mush sighs. “Last night, what Elmer said about homophobia…” 

He stops to see if he’s getting any reaction. Blink is looking at him with a pretty neutral expression. When it’s clear Mush isn’t going to continue, he shrugs. “What, you didn’t agree with what I said?”

Mush shakes his head. “Yeah. I mean, no, I didn’t really.”

“Oh.” Blink considers this for a moment. “Uh, I’m sorry for assuming you’d think the same as me-”

“No,” Mush stops him. “No, don’t worry, it’s not that. It’s more…” he sighs and makes a hand gesture to try to explain how he feels. “The whole thing. With homophobia. It’s… a weird subject.”

Blink raises an eyebrow. “Why?” then his expression suddenly turns grim. “Has anyone said anything to you? Done anything?”

Mush shakes his head quickly. “No! No.” Then he stops. “Or, uh, well. They did, didn’t they? To both of us, back then.”

Mush knows that Blink remembers. He must. One does not easily forget merciless fists and hard kicks, being left in the cold and dark without any chance of getting up. They had agreed then to never speak of it again, to ignore the questions or lie. Telling the others that they had gotten beaten up just because they were kids with some money had been much easier than telling them they had got beaten up because you were caught kissing each other. So that’s the story they had spread when they got back to the lodging house.   
The danger of what they were doing had been hanging in the air before that moment - of course it had been, how could it not? - but it was after that night that Mush had seriously started worrying about being caught. What if any of the newsies had seen them? Would they have been kicked out from the lodging house? Would they have lived to see the next day?

Mush’s sentence hangs in the air for a moment, and he prays that Blink will understand what he is trying to say. There is another beat of silence, then Blink raises his chin a bit and nods slowly. Relief surges through Mush’s chest. Of course Blink understands, he always understands the underlying meaning in the words that Mush is trying to get out.  
“Oh,” he says quietly. His lips are pressed together tightly.

“Yeah,” Mush mumbles. 

“But, sweetheart…” Blink rises from the chair and climbs up on the bed, sitting in between Mush’s legs. “It’s different now, isn’t it? We don’t have to worry about that.”

Mush nods. “I know that, ’course I do. But… It doesn’t make it less _scary,_ Louis.”

Mush using his real name is the thing that makes Blink realize that he is truly being serious. 

“Everytime I think about then…” Mush says, his voice shaking slightly. “About us, then… Of course I think about you, and me, and how great we were together, but… Mostly I can only think about how fucking scared I was all the time.”

Blink is scanning Mush’s face, thinking hard. He didn’t know Mush had felt that way in 1899. How could he have missed that? Had he been so caught up with being worried about himself and his own feelings, that he had completely missed the fact that Mush had been afraid?

“You were the one who initiated everything,” Blink mumbles, stroking a finger along Mush’s jaw. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you would have done that if you were uncomfortable, so I…”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable, Blink,” Mush says, voice suddenly stern. “Not with you, not ever. Don’t think that. But, I mean, I worried that we were gonna get caught, all the time. And I still do, even though we can’t get caught because we’re not hiding anything.” He sighs. “Does that make any sense?”

Blink isn’t sure, but he nods anyway. “So you were scared?” he asks softly, continuing stroking Mush’s face. 

Mush nods slowly. “Remember that time behind the lodging house, at New Years?”

Blink does. It had been cold as hell, their thin clothes and too small shoes not giving any protection from the cold winds and the wet snow. Buttons had tried to help mend any clothes that needed sewing, but he couldn’t do anything about the thin fabrics or lack of pants that were long enough to cover their ankles. The streets had been dressed in white for days, making it hell to get across town. Race had been complaining for days about being forbidden to walk over to Brooklyn by Jack, and even Specs had been a bit sour when thinking about getting around the city. On New Years eve the morning papes had been getting out as usual, but the circulation was generally low when the weather was like this. No one wanted to go outside if they could help it, and if they happened to be outside, they wouldn’t be stopping to buy a pape. 

When the night came, the Duane Street-newsies had gathered at Jacobis for dinner. Many of them had tried to save up for a night like this, so they had spent more money than they usually did in order to celebrate the new year, before walking back to the lodging house for a night full of games. Katherine had stopped by with Bill and Darcy by her side, on their way to some fancy party their fathers insisted they attended. She had hid a couple of bottles of alcohol under her skirts, which she gave the boys with a smile and a stern comment to Jack about only letting the older newsies drink. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack had said with his usual smirk, and kissed her goodbye before she left. 

It had taken about an hour until Mush and Blink had managed to sneak away from the party. The cold air had been stinging Blink’s skin and his back had slowly been turning to ice after being pressed against the freezing brick wall for so long, but it hardly mattered. Not when Mush’s mouth was everywhere at once, warming him from the inside out the same way the alcohol had done. 

The memory has always brought a smile to Blink’s face, but now it only makes him frown. “What, did you not want to-?”

“No!” Mush drags a hand over his face in frustration. “That’s what I’ve been saying. I don’t regret anything we did, Blink. I’m just telling you I was scared shitless while we were doing it.”

“Then why did you do it?” Blink asks, not following Mush’s logic. 

Mush lets out a humourless laugh. “Because of you, of course!” A soft smile spreads across his face. “Always, because of you.” He grabs Blink’s hand and brings it to his lips. “You make me feel brave. Even when I’m scared shitless, I know I can get through anything, as long as I’m with you.”

Blink can feel his throat closing up, but he ignores it and leans forward and to press kisses into Mush’s warm mouth. Wonderful, beautiful, incredible Mush. His Mush. In every lifetime, no matter what. “I love you,” he mumbles. 

Mush grins against his lips. “I love you, too.”

He only leans back again when an irritating buzzing noise is making it hard to concentrate on Mush’s lips. Instead Blink continues down Mush’s neck, making him laugh softly as he reaches for his pocket and brings out his phone. 

“Hello?” Mush says into the phone, playing with Blink’s hair. “Yeah, no, I- oh!” He snickers as Blink playfully bites into his neck. “No, I’m fine. Yeah?” His body vibrates as he tries to hide his laugh, making Blink stop for a second to look at his face. He is sporting a bright flush, and Blink thinks he might never look as beautiful as now. Content and happy. Blink runs his fingers up Mush’s leg softly, but suddenly he is stopped by Mush’s hand.

“He did what?”

Mush pushes Blink back and sits up a bit straighter. “Are you serious? He actually did that?” Blink can see the smile quickly slipping off Mush’s face and he furrows his eyebrows. “The little shit,” Mush mutters. “Yeah, sure. We will. Bye.”

He hangs up and throws his phone on the mattress beside him, following it down with an irritated groan.

“What’s wrong?” Blink asks and leans down slightly to rub Mush’s stomach. 

Mush sighs and presses the pads of his thumbs onto his eyelids. 

“That was Albert,” he says. “He was just at Romeo and Specs’ dorm. Ro has told Specs everything.”

* 

Albert is regretting every decision in both of his lives that brought him to this point in time. He regrets living in New York, because if he didn’t he wouldn’t have studied at this college and then he wouldn’t have just walked in on Specs and Romeo making out. He regrets becoming friends with Race, because then he wouldn’t have become friends with Specs and Romeo and he wouldn’t have just walked in on them making out. He also regrets growing the habit of obtaining keys to his friend’s apartments or dorm and using said keys to visit said friends even when the friends in question haven’t invited him, because then he wouldn’t have walked into Specs and Romeo’s dorm and on them making out. 

“You can open your eyes, Al.”

Albert shakes his head. “You are saying that right now, but when I do you’re gonna have Romeo pinned to the bed again. Is he still shirtless?”

“No,” Romeo says, laughter clearly audible in his voice. “I have put on a shirt. Come on.”

Albert reluctantly opens his eyes. “Okay,” he says when he sees that both of his friends are decent. Or, kind of decent at least. Romeo’s hair is standing on edge, and Specs’ glasses are a bit crooked, not to mention the flushed cheeks. But they are both dressed, at least. And not in any compromising positions. “Anyway,” Albert says. “I’m sorry that I screamed.”

“That’s okay.”

“And ran out of the room.”

“That’s fine, too.”

“Oh, I’m also sorry for walking in on you in the first place.”

Specs smiles faintly. “It’s alright, though I think we might want that spare key back.”

Albert nods slowly. “That’s fair. And, uh.” He makes a face. “I feel like you should know that after I understood that Romeo had, ah, told you, I....Well, I called...”

Romeo’s smile falters and he groans. “You didn’t,” he says. When Albert nods he throws himself down on his bed while swearing loudly. “Albie, you just metaphorically killed one of your closest friends, you know that, right?”

Specs sits down next to Romeo and places a hand on his leg. Albert would have thought it was sweet, if he didn’t have the sight of his two friends violently making out still fresh in his mind. He was used to it from, like, Mush and Blink. Hell, he himself had made out in front of a friend as late as last night. It was a whole other thing to be at the receiving end, however, especially when you weren’t expecting it.

“Uh, yeah, they should be on their way.”

Specs glances from Romeo to Albert. “And when you say ´them´, you mean..?”

Albert winces. “Mush and Blink,” he explains.

Romeo groans again, his dramatic flair even more prominent when he’s hungover. “Specs, darling, can you write my eulogy?” Specs just pats his leg. 

The knock on the door makes them all glance at each other. Specs raises an eyebrow. “See, that’s what people usually do before entering another person’s room,” he says pointedly at Albert.

Albert doesn’t have time to answer before the door is opened and Mush and Blink tumble into the room. They look at Albert, half laying in the office chair, and Romeo and Specs, who are still sitting next to each other on the bed. Romeo looks up at them with a slightly pale face. Blink is the first one to break the silence by turning to Romeo and exclaiming: “You fucking idiot.”

Romeo opens his mouth, but doesn’t have time to say anything before Mush speaks up. 

“We told you,” he says. His voice is calmer, but the irritation is clear on his face. “We told you, Romeo, again and again, to not tell him.”

“Uh,” Specs pipes up from the bed, but Mush ignores him. 

“You don’t care about what we asked of you, you just decide that you know better than all of us?”

Romeo scoffs. “What, because I don’t want to lie to my best fucking friend?”

“Well…” Specs says, but once again no one listens to him. 

“No, I’m not gonna apologize for this.” Romeo stands up. “Why shouldn’t I have told him?”

“Because you didn’t know how he’d react,” Mush says slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to a child. 

The degrading tone makes Romeo’s eyes narrow. “I know him better than anyone in our group,” he says. “I knew he’d be fine with it.” 

Albert and Specs are both quietly observing the fight, not really feeling like they have anything to contribute. Or, in Specs case, not feeling like he’s getting a chance to speak. 

Blink scoffs. “People can surprise you, Romeo, you shouldn’t just blindly trust-”

“Excuse me, do you remember who you are talking about?” Romeo point towards Specs. “It’s _Specs._ You honestly think he would do anything to knowingly hurt us in any way?”

Blink is quiet. Mush is quiet. Romeo’s chest is heaving slightly, and he’s staring at them. 

He’s still pointing as Specs, who stands up. “I wouldn’t,” he says quietly. “I don’t understand much of this, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, but…” He trails off, and shakes his head slightly as if his own words don’t make any sense to him. Mush looks at Blink, who is still in an intense staring contest with Romeo. 

Albert thinks about when he first remembered, but didn’t know what was happening or why it was happening. He remembers the feeling of hopelessness, of being completely alone without being able to lean on anyone. He had felt that way until he understood that Mush and Blink also remembered. A small part of him feels almost indebted to them both. Without them, he wouldn’t have been able to make sense of anything. 

At the same time he looks at Romeo’s small, defiant frame and Specs, who is staying close behind him, and wonders how the fuck anyone would think of those two as any sort of threat. Romeo had only wanted to protect Specs from feeling alone in that way, ever. He had just wanted to be honest.

Romeo glares at Mush. “Remember our conversation, before meeting Katherine? How I listened, and helped?” Mush doesn’t answer. Romeo glances back at Albert, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. “And you, Albie,” he says. “I helped you with the research. I spent hours trying to find information about what was going on, even before I knew what was going on. You know I would never do anything to ruin our group.” After staring at him for a moment, Albert nods slowly. Romeo turns back to Blink. “So believe me when I say I know Specs wouldn’t either.”

Blink’s jaw is quietly working. He looks back at Specs. After a few intense seconds of silence, he asks, his voice gruff: “How are you feeling? You holding up okay?”

“I’m okay,” Specs says, voice calm but cool as he meets Blink’s gaze with a raised chin. 

Albert feels sheepish for not asking Specs that question himself. Getting a bomb like this dropped on you? It can’t have been fun. But he had been too wrapped up in everything else. 

Blink nods slowly. “I’m glad,” he says. He looks at Romeo again for a second, nods towards Albert and turns on his heel before walking out of the room. Mush looks like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind and leaves as well, shaking his head slightly as he does. 

Romeo almost falls to the ground when the door closes, and Specs grabs hold of him to keep him upright. “Okay,” he says and leads Romeo to the bed. “Sit down, Ro, you did great.” He sits down next to him, still keeping a protective hand on his arm.

A relieved smile forms on Romeo’s face, and a small laugh escapes him. “I think I did, too,” he says and lays down on the bed. “Holy shit, Blink is a _dick._ ”

Albert laughs at that. He can’t help it. The tension in the room is gone so suddenly if leaves a sort of vacuum that can only be filled with humor. Specs glances at him and breaks into a grin too. Romeo sniggers from the bed and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“He’ll straighten out,” Specs says and runs a soothing finger down Romeo’s arm. 

Romeo smirks. Albert snorts. “No, I think that’s the one thing he won’t do, to be honest.”

That only makes them all laugh even harder.

After that, the news about Specs knowing spreads quickly in the group. Texts and calls let them all know what has happened, and within an hour it’s a fact: Romeo and Specs are officially ignoring Mush and Blink, and vice versa. Race is still at Spot’s place when Albert calls him for the gossip. 

“How the fuck are we supposed to react to this, then?” he asks. He is slightly leaning into Spot, who is scrolling on his phone while obviously paying close attention to what Race is saying. “Like, Blink and Mush were acting like huge dicks, man. Are we just gonna ignore that?”

Albert sighs. Race can hear the general sound of the subway in the background. “I don’t know, dude. I mean, they did have a point.”

“Sure, Romeo shouldn’t have gone against the groups wishes,” Race agrees. “But they took it too far.”

“Yeah, but Romeo completely ignored what we asked him to do. You don’t know how it was, before you remembered.” Albert lets out a frustrated breath or air. “It was just the four of us, and we were just… in it together, you know? And Romeo kind of, just didn’t give a shit about that.”

Albert is right. Race doesn’t know how it was. He only saw it through the outside, in the jealous haze of someone left out of something important. “Romeo was just trying to include Specs.” He looks at Spot. “I don’t know about you, Al, but I think I’m gonna stay out of it. Let them figure it out, right?”

Albert hums in agreement. “I guess.”

“But you said they ended it well?”

“I wouldn't exactly use the word _well,_ ” Albert says. “They ended things… uh, civilly. Yeah.”

Race snorts. Spot stops pretending to be interested in the cooking video on instagram and looks up at him. “Civilly?” Race asks. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that they didn’t actually throw any punches,” Albert mutters. “But I think it’ll blow over, sooner or later. I’m outside your place, throw down the key.”

Race’s eyes widen slightly. Spot gives him a look. “Oh! Uh, I’m not home, so it might be a bit hard to do that.” Spot smirks at that.

Albert is quiet for a moment, and Race can almost see him jumping to conclusions on the other end of the line. “Where are you, then?”

Race closes his eyes and drags a hand over his face. “Uh, Spot’s place?”

He almost drops his phone in surprise when Albert lets out a loud woop. “Get it, man! I knew it! Does he know? He has to, or you wouldn’t talk about this stuff on the phone, right?”

“Uh, right-”

“Cool. Okay, no worries.” Albert makes kiss-noises into the phone. “Have fun!”

“It’s not-” Race protests, but the line has already gone dead. 

He sighs and throws his phone down beside him. Spot raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Race shakes his head. “You don’t wanna know, trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought everything would just... Go smoothly? Unrealistic
> 
> **Thank you for reading!! Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment to let me know if you liked this chapter.**
> 
> We're halfway through the story now!!! I'm excitedddd
> 
> _Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s like this barrier between the 19th century and the 21st century is broken down at times, and the different versions of them begin to mix more and more the longer they all live with both of their lives in their memories._

Becoming friends all over again is weird. They are all quite different from how they once were, but at the same time some characteristics are so clearly recognizable that is hurts just looking at them. It’s like this barrier between the 19th century and the 21st century is broken down at times, and the different versions of them begin to mix more and more the longer they all live with both of their lives in their memories. 

Race doesn’t smoke anymore, but he has taken to going out to the stables as often as he can to get some peace and quiet. Albert is still snarky and teases the others just like he used to do, but he is also much more quiet than he ever was in 1899. Mush and Blink are both softer and more open, not as guarded as they had been. The only thing they have been getting more private about the last few months is their own relationship, even though they are working to get over that anxiety. Elmer makes the exact same face as they used to make whenever they’re confused, but the others have stopped teasing them if there is something a bit obvious that they don’t know. All of the newsies, including Katherine or course, have all small parts of them left from 1899. Things that will never change. But that doesn’t mean they are the same people. 

That becomes very clear as they all get more and more used to each other again. The fight between Mush, Blink and Romeo is one clear example of that. They all have to learn the hard way that they have changed, and that they can’t expect them all to react to things they would have in 1899. There are many other instances of this in various degrees of significance: 

An example is that no one walks up to Blink on his right side anymore, since his bad eye and his eyepatch makes it impossible to notice people on that side of him. They do this because they all learned back in 1899 that Blink would probably punch you if you startled him (an old reflex from sleeping on the streets for too long). Nowadays, however, it doesn’t really matter what side of Blink you walk on. No one would be in any danger because Blink doesn’t really have the same natural reflexes as he did then, since his upbringing and living situation is very much different today. That’s not to say that Blink doesn’t appreciate the gesture anyway.

Some other instances, which are not as innocent and unimportant as the one with Blink, is when it becomes clear how their attitudes have changed towards each other. Of course, they never used to be outright _mean_ to each other, at least not if no one deserved it. But their roughhousing and general… boy-ness, as Katherine might have put a hundred years ago, is not always as appreciated as it once had been. 

Some of them, especially those who, like Race, Albert and Smalls, like to tease the others a lot, sometimes go too far without noticing it. It’s easy to slip back into old habits, and some downright mean names and insults can often be heard tossed over the room. Often it’s fine, but sometimes it’s… not. They only notice it’s a real problem, though, when Albert one day calls Mush and Blink a pretty terrible and homophobic slur - that had often been used casually in 1899 - without even thinking about it. 

There is a stunned silence. The color drains from Albert’s face when he realizes what he has said. Mush gets up and leaves without so much as a word. The others are for a moments seriously been worried that Blink is gonna punch Albert, and that Albert will let him do it as a sort of self-punishment. But Blink only gives him a disgusted look and goes after his boyfriend. 

It works out in the end. After Mush and Blink calm down, and Albert gets enough of the others yelling at him, they talk. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Mush doesn’t meet Albert’s eyes, and it makes Albert’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “I fucked up,” he says and then takes a deep breath. “Is there anything I can do to, uh, I don’t know. Make up for it?”

Blink looks from his boyfriend to Albert. He isn’t as shaken as Mush is, but he has a grim face when he nods. “Yeah, listen to us for a moment.”

He begins describing how their relationship had been like in the 19th century. How they hid, why they felt like they had to, and how it made them both feel. Mush takes over after a while and starts explaining how the old feelings, old impulses to hide away and be scared, are still a part of him in a way. 

Albert tries hard to listen, to understand. He asks questions when he thinks it’s okay. “I just... “ He hesitates for a second before continuing. “I mean, Race is also… and Elmer, of course… But they...” He stops, not sure if he’s getting his point across. 

Mush shrugs. He looks so tired. “I can’t speak for either of them, can I? I don’t know if they are also affected by that, I just…” He shakes his head.

Blink rubs his arm and then turns back towards Albert. “Everyone of us reacts differently to being faced with memories from our past. There is no right or wrong way to feel about this, since we are basically going in blind, right? Us feeling like this doesn’t mean the others do, or that they don’t.” 

After that conversation, Albert is extra careful of what he says and what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t like to talk about what he and Mush and Blink discussed with anyone else, though. Race thinks it’s because he’s still ashamed. He also thinks that Albert kind of deserves to feel ashamed, so he hasn’t pushed it. 

Slowly, day by day, they relearn how to act around each other. They find a sort of balance between 19th and 21st century, just as they had with their own personalities. As the days turn into weeks, David gets more and more used to being around the other newsies again. It’s basically like last time, he reasons. They all take some time getting used to, with their general air of controlled chaos, but after awhile you get so involved that you can’t picture how your life was like before them. 

It had been just the same in 1899. David always has trouble when he tries to remember his life before the strike. Everything seems sort of… blurry. Like it’s not important. And to some extent, he thinks, it wasn’t really that important. Being a part of the strike, meeting Jack, and making friends with the others, had been one of the few things making his life extraordinary and special. Nothing could really top that. His family wouldn’t agree with him if they knew, of course. Neither would Katherine, to be honest, but more out of obligation than actual belief that David’s life had been fulfilling before he met the newsies.

He hasn’t brought it up yet, but sometimes David catches her looking at Jack with a frustrated look, as if his mere presence is making her jittery. David can relate to that feeling. It seems that everytime Jack joins them all when they hang out, it makes David sit on edge the whole time. One time they are at Jack and Crutchie’s place because, let’s be honest, it’s the biggest apartment in their group. David, Crutchie, Smalls and Elmer has planned for a movie night, and after a couple of hours they are joined by Jack. It isn’t awkward, exactly, but simply… quieter. Because now, no one dares to talk freely in fear of accidentally telling Jack anything. After Romeo’s slip-up, everybody are more aware of the lies they tell than ever. Especially David. He can’t sit beside Jack without wanting to turn to him and just… simply go back to how it should be. But he can’t. So instead, Jack sits between Elmer and Crutchie on the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen. But David can tell by Jack’s blank, slightly unfocused expression that he doesn’t actually care about the movie they are watching.

To David’s dismay, his friendship with Jack hasn’t really gotten much better, even after Jack apologized. Oh, right. Yeah, Jack had apologized. A couple of days after their night out, he had walked up to David as he was sitting outside the campus library. 

“Hey, Davey!” he had said, making David almost drop his book in surprise. 

“Uh, hi Jack,” David had said. “What do you want?” He had been very proud of the icy hint in his voice. Jack had, after all, behaved like a douche that night. David didn’t owe him anything but cold politeness, really. 

“I, uh…” For once, it seemed as if Jack was the one who didn’t know what to say. Just like he had after convincing him to join the rally, David had felt very satisfied with the way he still had some control over Jack’s feelings. 

“I think I owe you an apology,” Jack had said, scratching his head awkwardly. “I behaved like a dick, without any excuse. I’m sorry.”

David had accepted the apology, because really, when does he ever not accept an apology coming from Jack? It’s just the same as it had been in 1899; Jack fucked up and jeopardized the whole strike in the process, and David had simply… forgiven him, like it hadn’t been a big deal. He’s so in over his head, and he feels more pathetic every interaction he has with Jack. That day, outside the library, Jack had smiled and David had been irritated with how easily he had smiled back. When Jack had walked away, he had done so leaving David with a lump in his throat, because even after all of that, he still didn’t remember anything. 

But, David had reasoned later that night, lying in bed without being able to fall asleep, maybe it was time to get over Jack not remembering. Sure, it still hurt, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. He mentioned it to Katherine when he ate lunch with her the day after. 

“That seems fair,” she had said. Her fingers had been smudged with ink from an antique typewriter she had gotten her hands on (“I can’t seem to write anything on the computer anymore, it’s too quiet.”) and she had had her usual glint of excited ambition when she sat down with David. “We have no idea when he’s going to remember, or… If, he’s ever going to remember.”

David hadn’t really considered that possibility until that day. It made him think hard and ask himself: Could he go through a whole life, just waiting for Jack to remember, when he might never do it? However long and hard he thought about it, he only came to the conclusion that it was yet another reason why he should get over Jack’s whole situation. 

He has to remind himself that despite how difficult the situation with Jack is for him, it must be a hundred times worse for Katherine. 

“I mean, you did date,” David says one day, as they’re walking to studygroup together. Since they are both literature-majors, they have a lot of classes in the same building, despite the fact that Katherine is a year above him. 

His rocky relationship with Katherine has slowly built itself into something more substantial as the weeks pass. It makes sense, David thinks, because they do have a lot in common. Ambition and a good work-ethic, Crutchie would say. David is more prone to thinking it is an inability to deal with Jack Kelly who is not really their Jack Kelly. But, who knows? Maybe he and Katherine would still have ended up friends, even without Jack. David hopes so, because no matter how desperately he wants Jack to remember and for everything to go back to normal, he is glad for all the things he does without him as the days go by. It makes him feel not as desperate, and not as pitiful. It, once again, reminds him of the strike. When Jack ran away and left them alone David had felt horrible, and he had felt resentful because of it. But in the end it had also made him realize that he was quite capable of leading people, capable of making change even without Jack there, speaking for him.

“Yeah, we did date,” Katherine says and wraps her scarf around her neck a little tighter. Her hair is recently cut into a bob that goes just down to her chin, and it makes her hair escape the scarf and fly in the small breeze. It really suits her, David notes. It frames her chin and makes her look older. She shakes the hair out of her face and continues. “I don’t know if he’d want to date me in this lifetime, though. Or if I would even want to.”

David ignores the small jolt of happiness running through his body at those words, feeling almost sick of himself. Why can’t he have a normal reaction to anything concerning Jack? “What do you mean?” he asks her. 

She thinks for a moment, her lips slightly pursed. “Well, firstly, I am very different than I was when I met Jack last time. I’m older, and not as worried about pleasing others.” 

He nods. He thinks about Katherine in 1899, who always seemed so sure of herself but for a long time had that underlying doubt that probably came from being a young woman in the workplace in the 19th century. He hasn’t thought about it, but now that she mentions it, he knows she’s right.

“I did love him,” she continues, her voice surprisingly neutral for such an emotional subject. “I just don’t know if I... loved him for the right reasons. Was it because he’s Jack, or was it because he was a way out of the life I was living?” She shrugs and motions for David to cross the street. “I’m not even sure myself.” She glances at him. “And besides that, I talked to Romeo and Specs last night, and we got into the subject of sexuality.”

“Oh,” David says dumbly. “Okay?” They walk into a small café, the warmness inside engulfing them both and making him sigh in relief. The weather is definitely getting colder, and the wind is strong today.

He hasn’t talked to either Romeo nor Specs since the fiasco with Romeo spilling their secret. David knows he had fought about it with Blink, Mush, and Albert, but he doesn’t know all the details. At first he had been confused why the argument had surrounded those four people, but it makes some sort of sense. Those four had been the original group who remembered, they all have that bond together. And if you take into account how loyal the newsies are towards each other, doing the exact opposite of what’s asked of you from the group is almost like treason. It all had resulted in Romeo and, by extension, Specs, distancing themselves from the group more and more. The only contact David had had with any of them during the last weeks had been the disgustingly cute couple-selfies Romeo proudly had posted on all of his social media.

“They had a lot to say on the subject, especially Romeo of course, but one thing I took with me was the fact that Romeo didn’t even know he was pansexual back in 1899. He said that he hadn’t let himself even imagine that scenario, he had just… ignored it.” 

That also makes sense, David thinks as they stand in line to get their coffee. Romeo, flirting with every pretty girl he saw on the street. No one had known whether it had been to sell papes or if he was actually interested, but his nickname had a clear reasoning behind it. That being said, if he had been aware of his sexuality, he still probably wouldn’t have said anything. It hadn’t really been something you spread around if you could help it. But David starts to understand what Katherine means.

“So, you think Jack was repressing his sexuality?” he asks, thinking about the bi-flag Jack has hung up behind the sofa in his apartment. 

Katherine throws her arms out, almost punching the old man in front of them in line. “I don’t know! Could be. Hiding a part of yourself like that, it affects everything.” She shakes her head. “But, honestly? The only one who knows is Jack.”

David nods. “And Jack would have a pretty hard time trying to answer a question about his sexual life in 1899.” He can feel the corners of his mouth begin to twitch. He reasons that it’s a good sign he can joke about this situation, because that means he’s getting some distance from it.

Katherine just smiles and links her arm with David’s, pulling him forward to the counter.

A few days later, David is reminded of the fact that even though he thought he and Katherine were becoming friends, she still doesn’t tell him everything. 

Les comes around one friday afternoon, since their parents are going to a dinner party he would “rather die than go to”. Usually he’d just sleep at Sarah’s, but she is also busy this night, so David has volunteered to babysit. Les is playing a game on his phone by the time David is done with his work for the night. 

“Haven’t you got any homework?” David asks him, and Les shakes his head absentmindedly. 

He doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Nah.”

David gives him - what he hopes is - a stern look. “Are you just saying that because you think I won’t care enough to check?”

Les looks up at him with a grin. “Nah.”

David sighs, giving in. He really doesn’t care enough to check. “Okay, whatever, it’s your future you’re throwing away. You wanna do something?”

Les finally puts his game down and sits up. He doesn’t look too worried about his future, so maybe he was being honest about not having any homework. His t-shirt is one of David’s old ones, something David can tell simply from the front: A picture of a cartoon snake with the text “Give me some mice mice, baby”. David would laugh at it if he wasn’t busy cringing at himself. 

“Can we go to the movies?” Les asks. 

“Sure,” David says, already thinking of ways to avoid Les getting high on sugar before bedtime. “What do you wanna watch?”

Les goes into a long, detailed debate with himself about what movie they should see. As he talks, David grabs his keys, wallet, and coat. After making sure Les is effectively bundled up in his jacket and hat, they leave the apartment to take the subway. 

David doesn’t really care about what they watch, so he lets Les pick the movie. The only time he actually puts his foot down is when Les coyly suggests an R-rated one. David smacks him lightly at the back of his head with his gloves. 

“Ow!” Les complains, even though it couldn’t actually have hurt. “What was that for?”

David doesn’t answer him, and wonders to himself what timeage that reflex had come from. 

After a long, drawn-out discussion about whether to get popcorn or liquorice, which David inevitably loses, they go to stand in line. It’s only then, in the middle of a conversation with Les about fortnite, that David sees them. He stops mid-sentence. There is a numbness spreading out to his fingertips, like he has gotten hit by a frying pan, and now his whole body is just floating aimlessly in the air. 

Jack and Katherine are sitting on one of the lounge sofas, obviously waiting to go see a movie. They are apparently talking about something very interesting, because Katherine is gesturing wildly and Jack nods seriously along with what she’s saying. They are so caught up in their own discussion that they don’t notice David staring at them for a whole minute. Then Katherine spots him. After a microsecond of surprise her face splits into a wide smile. She waves excitedly. David returns the gesture halfheartedly. Katherine nudges Jack and stands up, and they both walk up to David and Les. 

“Hi, boys!” Katherine says and engulfs David in a big hug before he has a chance to do anything. She pulls away and looks down at Les with an even bigger smile. “You must be Les, am I right?” He nods, quiet for once. 

Jack is quiet as well, standing a foot behind Katherine and not really meeting David’s eyes. His whole stance is defensive, as if he’s worried David is gonna challenge him to a duel. Which is, just… a hilarious thought. 

“So, are you both here to see a movie?” David asks, turning back to Katherine. 

She nods. “Uh, yeah.” Her eyes flicker from him to Jack. “You too, I presume?”

David nods, not sure of what to say. Katherine is looking at him unblinkingly. It looks like she wants him to read her mind, but David doesn’t understand the message she is trying to send. Jack is looking at Les. Les doesn’t notice, he is too busy eyeing the popcorn machine behind the counter. 

“We should get going,” Katherine finally says, after the silence stretches out a bit too long. “But, uh, have fun, you two!” 

She begins to walk away, leaving Jack behind. Jack is still staring at Les. Then he notices what he’s doing and hastily looks away, instead meeting David’s gaze. 

“Uh,” he says, gesturing lamely towards the doors to the movie theaters, where Katherine has gone. “I should… Yeah.” 

David nods. “Have a nice date,” he says tonelessly with a smile he hopes is natural. His throat feels strained. Jack stares at him for a couple of seconds, as if not sure how to respond to a comment like that, and then turns on his heel and walks away with a small shake of the head. 

David and Les get their popcorn, but they taste bland to David. Les continues to talk for a while, but stops when he notices that his brother is even less interested than he usually is. David pays for the tickets without really thinking about what he’s doing; Les could probably have tricked him into seeing an R-rated movie and he wouldn’t even have noticed. What a great babysitter he is.

“Um,” Les says as they sit down in their seats. They are early; the commercials haven’t even started yet. “So, who were those two?”

“Oh, them?” David says and concentrates hard on the conversation so he won’t zone out. “Uh, just… some friends from uni.”

Les looks at him while eating popcorn at lightning speed. “What are their names?”

“Jack and Katherine.”

Les hums. He stretches his legs out in front of his seat. He has really hit a growth spurt, David notes. Soon he will be taller than Sarah. 

“And which one of them are you in love with?” he asks casually.

David splutters indignantly. “What the _hell,_ Les?” He doesn’t usually swear around his little siblings, but he is actually so shocked by the comment that he doesn’t even notice. 

Les grins with the smugness of someone twice his age. “It’s obvious, Davey. Personally, I think it’s Jack, but I might be wrong.” 

David pointedly looks away. The trailers have begun to play on the screen. “I’m not going to talk about my love life with you. You’re like, _twelve._ ”

“I’m fourteen!”

David gives him a look. “Still not old enough to see R-rated movies.”

That shuts him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing Les, gotta do it moreeee
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!! Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you thought
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It hadn’t been Spot’s idea. It really hadn’t. Race had decided to quit smoking even before he and Spot started doing… whatever they are doing. And besides, Race isn’t so pathetic that he would change his life in a major way just because Spot Conlon thought he should._

Crutchie, Albert, and Race are playing cards and drinking. They’ve been doing it for most of the night already, and now it’s well past midnight. Crutchie is yawning while dealing the cards. Albert has a cigarette hanging from his lips, but he hasn’t lit it after complaints from both Crutchie and Race. Crutchie, because he hates the smell, and Race because he gets extremely jittery being around people who smoke nowadays. And a Race who is more jittery than usual is just… plain annoying, and stressful.

“I still can’t believe you actually quit,” Albert says, looking closely at his cards. “I’m impressed, dude.” His snapback is lying on the table beside him, so his red hair is exposed, which is a pretty rare occurrence.

Race hums, tapping his finger on the surface of the table. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.”

Albert doesn’t, but whatever. 

“Was there a particular reason why you did it?” Crutchie asks. His pointed look makes it seem like he already has a theory in mind, and it’s confirmed when he continues: “A certain Spot Conlon, maybe?”

Race doesn’t answer for a moment, biting his lip and focusing on the cards in front of him. How is he supposed to explain the reason why he quit smoking when he can’t even understand it himself? 

It hadn’t been Spot’s idea. It really hadn’t. Race had decided to quit smoking even before he and Spot started doing… whatever they are doing. And besides, Race isn’t so pathetic that he would change his life in a major way just because Spot Conlon thought he should. Spot knows this. That’s why he hadn’t said anything the first time Race had brought up a cigarette and lit it around him, the night of Jack’s party. He had only eyed it carefully and then gone back to facing the road in front of him on their way back to his place. He hadn’t said anything, but it still had left Race with the feeling of being judged, and he hadn’t exactly liked it. For some reason, being judged by Spot had felt much worse than being judged by anyone else. On the other hand, later that night when they got back to Spot’s apartment, he had still kissed him without complaint, despite how much Race must have smelled. So he can’t have been too disgusted by it. 

After remembering, though, things changed. Every time Race smoked, or even saw someone else pick up a cigarette, his mind always went to 1899. Bought, or stolen, cigars that he had kept under his bed to keep safe from grabby fingers. Raw lungs that had hurt during the winter, since he hadn’t been able to afford a warm coat or even a good scarf. He remembers the violent coughing fits he sometimes had gotten on his way back from Brooklyn, after walking all day, and Spot’s vary gaze when they didn’t stop. 

“Maybe you should get someone to look at that,” Spot had said one night. He had been leaning back against a lamppost, staring straight at Race who was trying to hide how badly his whole chest ached.

“Ain’t got the money,” Race had replied as he blew at his fingers and thought about how warm and welcoming the lodging house would be when he got back.

“I’ll lend you some, if you don’t wanna go to the charity hospital,” had been Spot’s reply. 

Race had frowned at him. “I meant that I ain’t got the money to afford not working for a day.”

“And I said that I can help you out.” Spot’s gaze had been fixed on Race’s, carefully masked with his usual indifferent gaze. Calm, collected, unaffected. Race had scoffed, and shook his head decisively. 

“‘m not letting you spend any cash on me, Spotty,” he had said and turned away. “I’s just fine and dandy.” He had felt Spot’s gaze on his neck as he walked away. 

Suddenly, the look Spot had given him that first night makes more sense. 

Of course, even if his whole mind rejected the idea of smoking, his body still craved it like it craved air. It got worse when he was around Albert, who even when he wasn’t smoking still liked to fiddle with his lighter or his pack, or in other ways remind his surroundings about the fact that he smoked. Things like that only made Race jittery and anxious, which was why he had prohibited smoking during game-night. A decision that had been backed up by Crutchie, luckily. 

“I don’t know, man,” Race says, finally responding. “It’s not good for your body, right?”

Albert snorts. “Neither is drinking seven shots of vodka, but that didn’t stop you last weekend, did it?” 

“Fair,” Race says with a smirk, which he quickly corrects into a neutral face before throwing four cents into the pile on the table. “I raise.”

Crutchie inspects his cards, looks at his friends carefully, and then folds. 

Albert stares at Race. Race stares back. Neither of them move.

Crutchie sighs and grabs his crutches to get snacks. He knows this can take a while. Albert glances down at his cards and then back at Race again, his jaw working silently. Race still doesn’t say anything. He barely dares to blink. 

“I call,” Albert finally says as Crutchie sits down once again, and Race lets go of the wolf-like grin he’s been keeping hidden since he got dealt his cards. He shows his hand, four knights and a nine of spades. Albert swears loudly. Crutchie snorts as Race takes his winnings. 

“Pleasure, gents,” he says and stacks the coins in small piles in front of him. 

They only play with pennies and dimes, just like in the 19th century. Back then, it had been because no one ever had anything more than that. Today it’s mostly because there is no actual risk of any of them getting in a big debt. Today the value of the coins aren’t the same, of course. Back then there had been a couple of instances where someone couldn’t actually pay. Arguments and fights had sometimes broken out, but it had almost always worked out in the end. If anything actually got out of hand, Jack had stepped in and asked Race to give the kid in question a lesson in how to place bets. Race had done… something like that. “There must be a reason why you’s losing all the time, you must really stink,” he would say to the kid. “So keep outta the big games ‘til you know what you’s doin’, alright?” He thinks he had been a rather good teacher.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is casual and light as Race shuffles the cards with a practiced hand. Albert is scrolling through his phone, checking social media. Every now and then, he’ll stop and ask the others questions. 

“You think Buttons has an instagram?”

“Probably. Why?” Crutchie fills their glasses once more.

Albert shows them the instagram of a tailor based in New York. “Maybe that’s the way to find him?”

Crutchie shrugs. “We don’t even know if he’s a tailor, though.”

“His name is Buttons!”

“ _Was_ Buttons.”

Albert takes his phone back with a disgruntled look. 

Race makes a face. “Besides, you gonna look through every instagram of every tailor in the city?” He shakes his head. “Remember when I got my first tailored suit, after I started T?” Albert nods. “I looked through like, a hundred different tailors close to me to find someone who I thought could tailor a perfect suit for a trans guy. Like, there are so many tailors, dude. You’ll never find him that way.”

Albert mumbles something and continues scrolling. After a couple of moments, he looks up again. 

“You think Henry works in a deli somewhere in the city?”

Race and Crutchie share a look, but they don’t have time to answer before the front door of the apartment rattles and a second later is opened. They can hear Jack from the hallway say something in greeting. His voice is accompanied by a second one. 

“In the kitchen!” Crutchie yells. Race deals out the cards. Jack walks into the room, followed by none other than Spot. They are both sporting flushed cheeks after being outside in the cold night-air. Spot has a beanie over his ears, which is surprisingly adorable and not something Race was ready for. His poor fucking heart.

“Hi, guys,” Jack greets.

Race smiles at Spot, who nods back. “Can’t get enough of me, can you, Spotty?” he says and continues dealing cards. 

Spot’s lips twitch. “Well, you can always dream,” he says casually, making Crutchie laugh and Albert whistle appreciatively. 

Race can feel his face heat up, but in his case it’s not from the cold. “You wanna join?” he asks to change the subject and nods at the table. “I just dealt the cards, but you could help me win.”

“Like you need any more help,” Albert mutters under his breath as he glares at his cards, making Crutchie snort. 

Most of the Duane Street-Newsies had only played poker among themselves. The exception had been Race and a few of the older ones, who had liked to play with Brooklyn or other groups in New York. For some reason, Spot had never seemed very interested in their games. He had joined a couple of times, but only when Race had bugged him for long enough. 

“I ain’t interested in costing my boys any money, Higgins,” he would say and cross his arms in front of him. 

Race would only raise his eyebrows in challenge and smirk. “You sure ‘bout that, Spot? I thinks maybe you is the one who’ll be payin’ in the end. Are you scared?”

Sometimes that had worked and made Spot grumble and sit down with them for a while. Most often, however, it had only succeeded in making him stare at Race and then walk away without a word. Race had never really understood why. 

Now, Spot doesn’t say anything in answer to Race’s offer, and Race wonders if he is also thinking about all of the other times he’s invited Spot to play cards with him.  
Jack furrows his eyebrows. “Since when do you guys play poker?” he asks and grabs a few chips from the bowl on the table. He sits down next to Crutchie, who is sorting through his own cards. 

“Since forever,” Albert says without thinking, and then hastily looks up at Jack. “I mean, uh… I was joking.” 

Race mentally sighs. “Not for long,” he says casually, pulling out the chair next to him and gesturing for Spot. “We thought we might try something new.” He smiles at Spot again as he sits down. 

“Okay,” Jack says, not sounding convinced. “Anyway, I met Spot on the subway. Invited him here.”

“You begged me to come over,” Spot corrects him and leans over to get a better look at Race’s hand. Race swallows at the close proximity. Maybe it had been a bad idea to ask for Spot’s help, after all. His poor body can’t handle the feeling of his breathing right next to him.

“How did your date go, then?” Crutchie asks Jack. That comment successfully makes Race focus on something besides Spot. All heads turn towards Jack. 

“Your what?” Albert asks, taking the cigarette out from between his teeth. “Who did you go on a date with?”

Jack glares at Crutchie, who doesn’t have the decency to look even a little bit ashamed. “With Katherine,” he mutters, making the others give each other meaningful looks. “But I don’t think it’s gonna work out. I don’t even think it was an actual date.”

This does surprise Race, a bit. He, like everyone else, had quickly picked up on the tension between Katherine and Jack when they met a few weeks ago. Katherine, of course, has the upper hand of actually knowing Jack. Jack, however, had just been very attracted to her. They had all expected something to happen between those two, it just made sense. But, then again, things were very different from how it had been. 

“What do you mean with it not being an actual date, though?” Crutchie asks. His voice is casual, and he is still looking at his cards, but his whole body-language makes it clear he is very intently paying attention to the conversation.

“I don’t know,” Jack says, leaning back in his chair slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice how the whole room has its attention fixed on him. “We had fun, and she’s great. Super smart, it’s almost freaky.” Race smiles at this, nodding along to Jack’s words. “But,” Jack continues. “Something felt... off.” He sighs and shrugs. “The movie was good, though.” His eyes widen slightly. “Oh, and guess who we ran into at the theatre?”

“Who?”

“Davey!”

The others fight super hard to keep their cool, but Race can see Crutchie almost flinch in his seat. 

“Oh, really?” Race asks, and nods to Crutchie to start the betting-process. He opens with five cents. 

“Yeah, Davey and his little brother.”

“Les?”

The name slips out before Race can stop himself, that’s how surprised he is. He hadn’t even thought about Les also existing, also being here. Of course, when he thinks about it, it makes total sense. And if Les is here, that means… No, wait, shit, he has already met Sarah. At Jack’s party, she had been there. A year below them, pre-med. Polite but not interested in talking about art with Jack. Jack had said they didn’t have that much in common. Holy shit. 

Race is pulled from his own small revelation as Jack shrugs. “I don’t remember his name, but probably,” he says, and Race can’t help but think about how depressing it is that Jack doesn’t know Les, who he had loved and protected like he had been his own little brother. 

Albert folds, not even pretending to care about the game anymore, and leans forward over the table to continue listening to Jack. “Okay, what did Davey say when he saw you?” he asks. Jack gives him a look. Race worries for a second that he is going to question how nosy they are being, but luckily he doesn’t mention it. 

“Uh, well, he said hi. It was a bit awkward, to be honest. We don’t really…” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He did say something about me enjoying the date, which was a bit weird.”

Crutchie swears quietly, but covers it up by coughing into his fist. Race gives him a pointed look, and he nods in answer as he lays down his cards. “I fold,” he says and grabs his crutches and his phone. 

“It’s not even your turn!” Jack says, bewilderment clear in his face, but Crutchie leaves the kitchen as quickly as he can without a word. Jack looks at Race, and gives a short incredulous laugh. “I guess you won, Race.”

Race glances at Spot, who is looking at him with raised eyebrows. Race puts on a smile. “I always do,” he says and pulls the, very small, pile of winnings towards himself. 

Crutchie has been gone for almost fifteen minutes by the time the game has begun to float into nothingness. Albert is on his phone, absentmindedly chewing on the drawstrings of his hoodie. Race is shuffling the cards just to have something to do with his hands. Jack is just sitting there, looking a little lost. Spot is not doing anything either, but somehow he makes it look cooler, Race thinks. 

“Oh, right,” Jack says suddenly, as if woken up from a slumber. “My teacher told me the news today; I’ve been granted to showcase my finals project in an actual art show.” 

Race wolf-whistles and Albert actually claps his hands. “Good job, man,” Race says. “When is it?”

“Right before Christmas,” Jack says and shakes his head. “I have so much work to do if I’m gonna finish in time.”

“Well, we’ll definitely be there,” Albert says, and Jack smiles appreciatively. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

Crutchie hobbles into the room. His face is grim.

"Anyway, I think I’m gonna head to bed,” Jack says and stands up. “You should, too,” he tells Crutchie with a clap on his shoulder. “It’s late, and you look tired.”

“Sure, _mom_ ,” Crutchie says back, but sits down in his seat in defiance. When they hear the door to Jack’s room close, everybody drops the facade and leans towards Crutchie. 

“What did Davey say?” Albert asks. 

Race can feel Spot’s hand on his back, which is surprisingly comforting and grounding. He appreciates Spot’s engagement in the situation. He never knew Davey that well, so there is no real reason why he should care about what’s going on right now, except for the fact that Spot very easily finds people to protect and care for, and then does just that. It’s what made him such a good leader for the Brooklyn newsies; he wouldn’t have let anything happen to his boys. Now, Spot gives the same amount of care to the people in their group.

“Les was sleeping, so he couldn’t talk for long,” Crutchie says. “He says he’s fine, but I don’t know... I mean, he was just not expecting to meet them both there. He still won’t admit to being jealous, though, which is… typical.”

Race hums in agreement at that. From an outsider perspective, the situation is so painfully obvious that he just wants to grab Davey and shake him until he understands. His feelings for Jack are clear; he just needs to accept it. Looking back, Race can even see how it all started back in 1899. Davey’s reluctant respect and almost admiration of Jack, which had been tested the times Jack broke their trust and almost ruined the strike. They had all seen it, all sensed it in one way or another, even if they hadn’t all understood it at the time. Maybe, Race thinks, Davey hadn’t understood it himself. 

“It’s a fucked up situation,” Albert says, summing up their shared thoughts eloquently as always. The others murmur in agreement. 

“Is there anything we can do, you think?” Race asks. 

Crutchie makes a face. “Probably not, at least not until Jack remembers.” He stifles a yawn. “Maybe he was right, it’s getting pretty late.”

Spot rises from his seat, stretching a bit. “Yeah, I need to get going,” he says. “But it was fun hanging out for a while.”

Crutchie smiles tiredly at him. “Of course. You’re always welcome.”

Spot is quiet for a moment. His gaze softens and he nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice a bit rough. He leaves the kitchen. Race’s eyes follow him until he disappears to the hallway. When he glances back at his friends at the table, they are both looking at him expectantly. “What?” he asks. 

“Go,” Albert says, as if Race is a bit slow. Crutchie nods towards the hallway. 

“I don’t…” Race begins, but stops when he sees their unimpressed looks. “Okay, fine. Jeez.” He says goodnight and walks out into the hallway. 

Spot is waiting for him, already dressed in his leather jacket which should be way too cold for november. When he sees Race come into the hallway he tilts his head slightly.   
Race ponders for a moment on what to say, but Spot beats him to it. “I thought you could walk me home,” he says, his face showing no sign of actually wanting Race to do it. “You know, to make up for all those damned walks across the Brooklyn bridge I had to put up with.”

Race grins slightly and quickly starts to dress. “I never forced you to follow me home every other night, Spotty-boy, that one’s on you.”

Spot grumbles a bit as they leave the apartment. “Couldn’t have a ‘hattan walking ‘round unsupervised on my turf, now could I?”

“Right, I’m sure that’s why,” Race says and bumps his hip into Spot. He swears he can see the hint of a smile on Spot’s face, but it’s quickly gone again. 

They make their way out to the street and begin the short walk to Spot’s place. It’s late - or early depending on how you look at it - and the streetlights and cars are lighting the way for them as they walk side by side. The cold seeps its way in through Race’s jacket. People are still out, of course. The city is filled with its usual smells and sounds: cars driving by, yells or laughter, the faint smell of piss, beer and weed that always seem to be more prominent during the night. The alcohol Race has consumed buzzes in him, but he doesn’t really feel drunk. He is humming slightly. After a few minutes of silence he grabs hold of Spot’s hand. Their fingers easily entangle with each other. The night suddenly feels warmer, as if a personal heating lamp is following them to keep them from freezing. 

They don’t talk about it, because they never talk about it. Their entwined hands are simply there, a simple fact of life that doesn’t need to be acknowledged, just like the sky or the grass. 

When they arrive at the apartment building, Spot stops in front of the entrance. His hand is still holding on to Race’s. “You wanna come upstairs?” he asks, his eyes the only thing hinting at his nervousness. Race nods, and Spot finally smiles. Race follows him as he opens the front entrance and walks inside. 

They don’t talk about that, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are starting to get on my nerves. And I'm the one writing this
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, everybody! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave a comment!! 
> 
> Say hello on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The days that follow are strange in many ways. December is quickly approaching, and since it’s right before exams, a lot of them are busy with last-minute studying and working on their projects. There is no christmas spirit yet, even though the town is being decorated and the temperature drops beneath freezing. Only the stress and anxiety caused by college._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this while waiting for the new druck-clip to be posted so if this is a mess I can't be held accountable

The days that follow are strange in many ways. December is quickly approaching, and since it’s right before exams, a lot of them are busy with last-minute studying and working on their projects. There is no christmas spirit yet, even though the town is being decorated and the temperature drops beneath freezing. Only the stress and anxiety caused by college.

Crutchie hands in the last draft of the stage-script he has been writing for class, and celebrates by sleeping for sixteen hours straight. Then he sadly has to return to reality and continue studying because he, like everybody else, has even more work to do. 

Mush and Blink mostly study together, making sure they both take breaks and testing each other at the end of the day. They do it both because they know they work well together, but also because it gives them an excuse to avoid the library. They have been working on actively talking to each other about their fears, and as time goes by, they both learn how to approach different problems they are facing with their two lifetimes in mind. They both work hard at communicating with each other, both being honest with their fears. Lying in bed together talking about old memories, both good and bad, is a calming way to end a long day of studying. 

Race and Spot spend more and more time around each other, and no one else in the group questions it. It just turns into a normal part of the group dynamic. And when Spot sits down hours to work through his long factual manuals he somehow needs to learn by heart, he does so knowing that Race is by his side if he just gives him a call. It’s surprisingly comforting, knowing you have someone there who’ll have your back without any questions asked.

They still don’t have a name on what they are, though. The weeks go by, and they continue their thing - making out, sleeping together, studying together - but they don’t dare name it, for something with a name has actual power and importance, and neither of them are ready to face that. For now, it’s enough to know that when Race is frustrated to the point of almost crying from not understanding the numbers in front of him, Spot only puts a hand on his shoulder and calms him down by simply existing. And when that doesn’t work, Race takes the bus to the stables, and spends a couple of hours walking around and petting the horses. Spot comes with him a couple of times, but it isn’t really his scene, and Race is almost relieved by that. The horses are his personal thing, and he isn’t sure he wants to share that with anyone, not even Spot.

Elmer has to put the LGBTQ-meetings on hold during the weeks leading up to the exams, to their own annoyance. Objectively, they know it’s necessary, but it doesn’t stop the knot in their stomach when they send out the news in a mass-email to the group and gets disappointed replies back. 

Smalls reminds them that missing a couple of meetings in order to get their teaching-degree isn’t the end of the world. “You only have a couple of years left,” she says and hands Elmer their tea. She is dressed in her older brother’s hoodie, which has three holes in its sleeve and almost goes down to her knees. She takes a sip of her coffee as she gives Elmer a once-over. She tries to determine whether or not they’re putting a normal amount of stress into their school work, or if she needs to yell at them for studying too hard. 

“Yeah,” Elmer says with a smile and looks down at their books on political science. “A couple of years, then I’ll be an actual teacher.”

Romeo and Specs study apart, because they are both aware of the fact that they can’t concentrate on their work if they are in the same room for too long. Albert calls it the “newlywed-stage” with a roll of his eyes. So Specs spends his time in their dorm and Romeo goes to the library or a café. They spend all of their breaks texting each other, though, which Albert probably would find just as disgusting. 

Speaking of Albert, he seems to be the only one not dying of stress. He does the work, though, which he thinks is an achievement in itself. 

No one sees Jack much. Crutchie mentions that he has been spending a lot of time in his room, coming out late at night with paint stains on his hands to eat cereal before crashing in his bed. Crutchie can’t help the relief he feels at this, and it makes him irk. Jack being engrossed in his work makes him tired but happy, and when Jack is either tired or happy, he doesn’t ask too many questions. He doesn’t even comment on the fact that Crutchie spends most days away from the apartment, even when he doesn’t have any lectures. 

Katherine has also been very absent for a while now; not coming around the library for their scheduled study-groups or even calling as often as she used to. 

“I’m so sorry,” she tells David on the phone one day, after he has spent a good portion of the morning trying to get hold of her. “I have so much work to do, and I still have to finish this article for the newspaper…” Her rushed voice makes David feel sympathetic for her, even though he’s still kind of hurt and doesn’t really _want_ to feel sorry for her, despite how childish that makes him. “I’ll be free next saturday, when I’ve handed in this paper,” Katherine says. “Can we meet up for coffee then? I feel like we need to talk.”

“Uh,” David says and sighs invertedly. “I think Crutchie is organizing that movie night thing?”

Katherine swears loudly. “Right! I had forgotten about that. I have a thousand things I need to finish until then.” She sighs. “Davey, about Jack-”

“Katherine-”

“No, I need you to hear this.” Her voice is very serious, and it makes him go quiet. “We decided that it wasn’t gonna work out. I... It didn’t feel right.” 

David can hear the resigned disappointment in her statement, and he wishes he felt more sad for her. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. 

Katherine laughs, but it sounds a bit shrill. “I’m the one who should be sorry, for not telling you that we had been seeing each other. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You didn’t,” David lies. Katherine hums on the other line. “I…” he hesitates, unsure how to phrase his thoughts. “I hope you did it for yourself, Kath.” 

“I did,” Katherine promises, and her voice is so sincere that David can’t help but believe her. “At least - I'm sure I still would have done it even if you didn’t feel the way you do.”

David doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know how to respond to something like that. How long has Katherine known? For weeks, or even months? Maybe since the beginning. His own feelings towards Jack are so hidden, yet everybody seems to know them already. He isn’t sure how he feels about that. 

He steps inside the library as he says goodbye to Katherine and hangs up. Their usual table is empty, with no sign of any of them. David checks his phone, and sighs when he sees the new texts from the group chat.

**Crutchie to the group chat, 11.14:**   
_Omg i overslept oops. Think i’m just gonna study from home todayyy <3 :(_

**Blink to the group chat, 11.17:**   
_not coming_

**Romeo to the group chat, 11.18:**   
_staying home!! so is specs ;)_

**Smalls to the group chat, 11.23:**   
_yeahhh im not coming sorry. finishing this wooden duck @ the workshop. it’s gonna be epic_

**Race to the group chat, 11.23:**   
_omg wooden duck?????? pics or it didn’t happen_

**Race to the group chat, 11.23:**   
_oH YEAH im not comign either lmao sorry. spot says hi thoooo_

**Smalls just sent a picture to the group chat, 11.24:**   
_Duck.jpg_

**Race to the group chat, 11.24**   
_lmaoooooo thats lit_

**Race to the group chat, 11.25:**   
_this is spot. please know that race is currently being held captive until he promises to never use the word “lit” ever again. thanks._

**Davey to the group chat, 11.25:**   
_Is anyone coming? Like, at all?_

The chat goes quiet. 

David sighs in annoyance and puts his phone into his pocket again. He sits down at the table and takes out his books. Now that he’s here, he might as well get some work done. He brings out his notes and starts copying them down, writing down bullet points he might need to remember for the books he’s read. The work doesn’t bother him too much. He is used to studying, he knows how he works and how he absorbs information in the best way. When he succeeds in concentrating, he can get so caught up in his work he doesn’t notice how much time passes. Today he sits for almost an hour without looking up from his books, losing himself in the notes and the words. He almost doesn’t react when someone walks up to the table. At first he assumes it’s Crutchie finally arriving, but when he glances up it’s Jack. 

“Oh, hi,” David says and immediately straightens his back out. He grimaces slightly as his stiff neck protests the quick movement.

“Where are the others?” Jack asks. He sounds a little wary, and sits down at the table a good couple of seats from David. 

“Not here,” David says, decidedly unhelpful, and piles his books so he’s not spread out over the whole table. “They all bailed.” His voice sounds a bit bitter, but he figures he has an okay reason for feeling bitter. Getting ditched by, well, everyone, and ending up having to spend time with the guy you are hopelessly pining after that basically hates you? It would usually result in bitterness. 

Jack glances up at David when he hears the pointed tone of voice, but doesn’t say anything. He grabs his backpack to bring out a book the size of a brick, and David can’t help but wonder what subject an art student is taking that demands that much reading.

“You didn’t see the group chat?” he asks, brain running fast to come up with new topics of conversation. 

Jack shakes his head. “My phone is dead,” he says. “I’ve been at my mom’s since last night.” 

Jack mentioning his mom makes David break into a small smile. “Medda, right?”

Jack looks surprised by the fact that David knows this information, but doesn’t comment on it. He returns the smile and nods. “Yeah. I use her living room as an art studio, sometimes. Much better lighting than my room.” 

“You paint a lot, huh?” David asks and cringes at himself at how weird and awkward he’s being. Of course Jack paints a lot, he’s a fucking art student. 

Luckily enough, Jack doesn’t seem to find the question too weird. He just shrugs. “And still I never seem to paint enough,” he says. 

David raises his eyebrows but decides not to comment on the slightly pretentious tone. “What do you paint?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“Landscapes, mostly,” Jack says and stretches his arm a bit. “At least the last couple of months. I’m working on a collection, for my finals project.” His eyes seem to get a certain shine to them as he says this. It makes David want to ask more about his work.

“What kind of project is it?”

“I am showcasing my paintings at a small art-gallery, together with a couple of my classmates,” Jack explains. “My teacher told me only last week, so, uh... I’m actually kind of freaking out.” He smiles sheepishly. 

“I’m sure it’ll go great,” David says, trying to keep a light and breezy tone to the otherwise loaded words. He locks eyes with Jack, who is quiet for a couple of seconds and then clears his throat.

“I do a lot of portraits as well, though,” he quickly says effectively changing the subject. 

A picture of a newspaper floats to the front of David’s mind. A newspaper with Katherine’s face on it, drawn in thick charcoal lines. He swallows. She said that she and Jack weren’t a thing anymore. That doesn’t make him automatically next in line. There is still the slightly weird tension in the air, as if something is left unsaid between them. But there isn’t. Is there?

“Oh, cool.” He looks around the room for something else to talk about, and his gaze falls on the book Jack is flipping through. “Is that for a class?”

He is a bit scared he has overstepped their carefully put boundaries by continuing the conversation, but Jack looks up and nods. 

“Yeah, I’m taking rhetoric as an elective. Figured it was just talking, right? Easy grade.” He makes a face, and David can’t help but laugh at that. “Turns out, it takes a ton of work to talk.” Jack shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m, uh... having trouble with this part in my speech. Race promised he would help, but… I guess I can go by his dorm later.” He suddenly glances at David and then quickly back at his book, as he only now realizes who he’s talking to. 

David bites his lip slightly, hesitating. “Uh, I took a rhetoric-class the summer before college, to get extra credit.” Jack looks up. “If you want, I could maybe look over the passage you’re struggling with?” 

Jack stares at him for a couple of seconds, then nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, that would be great.” He grabs his bag and moves so he’s sitting right in front of David, almost as if he’s scared he’ll change his mind if he waits for too long. “Would you mind, uh, right now-?”

David shakes his head, already closing his own notebooks. “No, go ahead.” Jack grins and takes out his computer from his backpack, pulling up the document and handing it to David. David finds the highlighted passage, but reads the whole thing so he’ll understand the context. 

It’s strange, reading Jack’s words. David has clear memories of hearing Jack speak, listening to this charismatic leader stand in front of a group of children and proclaiming that the world, and The World, would obey if they only stood and fought together. The words he had spoken then, completely improvised, share the same sense of resolution and willingness to fight with the words David is reading right now. It almost makes him emotional, and he has to take a deep breath to actually focus on the text’s topic. When he comes to the passage Jack has been fighting with, he reads it more carefully a couple of more times before leaving comments in the document. He can sense Jack watching from, but forces himself to finish the work before looking up. 

“It’s great,” he says, and he’s not lying, it really is. 

The comment makes Jack lighten up slightly, and David can feel his heart jumping up to his throat when he replies with: “Really? Thanks.”

“Of course,” David says with a faint smile and nods towards the document. “I left some comments, for instance...” he points to a small section. “That won’t work, because you contradict what you say in the beginning, and I think that thing you say right here is completely taken from a book, so you need to mention its source. But…” He hesitates, still not sure how far he’s allowed to go. “Uh, if you are half the speaker you are a writer, it’ll go brilliantly.” 

Jack looks at him and blinks, almost in surprise. “Thank you, Davey,” he says seriously. 

His eyes are filled with so much sincerity that David can’t make himself look away. They stare at each other, not saying anything for a couple of seconds. After a moment or two Jack hastily breaks eye contact and fixes his gaze on the document to read the comments. David can see his eyes narrow as he concentrates on the suggestions and pointers he has written down, and his lips are silently mouthing along with the words, as if testing them out. The casual actions make David blink and swallow a couple of times. When did his mouth go so dry?

Jack looks up from the laptop with a smile that grows bigger. “These are really good tips,” he says. “You could probably be a teacher.”

David shrugs as he feels his face heat up. “I just, uh… write a lot.” He clears his throat and opens his notebook again. Jack nods and focuses his attention back on the thick book in front of him. David tries really hard to concentrate on his work, but the words in front of him lose his interest and he finds himself glancing to the boy next to him more often than not. Jack is reading in his book and typing notes vigorously, seemingly completely unaware of the world around him. They stay like that for a couple of hours longer, not really speaking, but simply existing next to each other as they both do their individual work. 

It’s not perfect, because Jack still doesn’t remember and David still doesn’t have the guts to actually talk to him for real. They come staggering close that day, passing the first hurdle and becoming something like acquaintances. So, no. It’s not perfect, but for now it might be enough.

David can’t think of an afternoon he has enjoyed more than that one for weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boys :,)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos and comments to let me know if you liked this chapter!
> 
> Say hello on tumblr! @pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When he had suggested that he and Spot should go christmas-shopping together, he hadn’t been serious. Mostly because he had been certain that Spot would just roll his eyes and dismiss it as a joke. He had been pleasantly surprised when Spot had only stared at him for a moment and then shrugged and said “Yeah, why not?”_

“So, how are you spending christmas?”

Spot looks comically surprised at this question, as if it’s asked completely out of the blue and he isn’t surrounded by garland and fake snow. The artificial, magical feeling of the mall makes him look almost misplaced in his dark clothes and grim look.

“Uh,” he shrugs, and turns back to the sales rack. “I’m invited to Jack’s, so I’ll probably go there for christmas day.”

Race nods and goes back to looking through a pile of t-shirts. They are all super ugly and stupid, but he figures he can always buy one for his sister as a gag-gift. 

When he had suggested that he and Spot should go christmas-shopping together, he hadn’t been serious. Mostly because he had been certain that Spot would just roll his eyes and dismiss it as a joke. He had been pleasantly surprised when Spot had only stared at him for a moment and then shrugged and said “Yeah, why not?” He had been just as surprised when Spot actually went through with it. 

Race has always loved Christmas. When he was younger, it had been all about the presents and snow, of course, but as he got older he was more and more looking forward to seeing his family. Being away for college was great, but living in a dorm in another part of the city meant he didn’t see his parents that often. He barely had the time to. Not to mention his sisters. Maria was just finishing her sophomore year of high school, and Nina and Juliana had both left New York for college. He hadn’t seen either of his two older sisters since school started, and given the turbulent fall he had just experienced, he could use a couple days of relaxation and good food. 

Christmas in the 21st century was a lot different from how it had been in 1899. Today, Race had a home to go home to, a family to spend the holidays with, presents to both buy and receive. Back then, he had only the newsies. They had, of course, had their own celebrations. The lodging house had offered more food than they could eat, but they still ate it all. If there was snow, they had spent some time running around outside, throwing it at each other. They couldn’t do it for long, obviously, since their clothes had been way too thin to play in the snow, but it had always made the younger kids laugh. Some of them, like JoJo and Mush, had gone to mass, during which the others would pass the time playing cards or gambling like usual. The whole day had been spent enjoying themselves, doing exactly what they wanted instead of what they had to do. Days off had been rare, so you had to enjoy them when they arrived. None of those things were really accurate anymore; everything was different.

“I don’t have that many people to buy gifts for,” Spot mutters and purses his lips as he flips through scarfs in silky fabrics. He holds one up to inspect it. It’s violet with dark blue stars along the edge. “You think Medda would wear this?”

Race doesn’t really think so, but he smiles anyway and nods. “Yeah, that looks cool.” Spot ponders for a second, and then puts the scarf down on the table again with a slight shake of the head. Race softly touches his arm. 

“Hey,” he says. “I think she’ll like anything you get her.”

Spot hums in answer and doesn’t look at Race. But when Race goes further into the store to check out snapbacks for Albert, he can see Spot quickly grabbing the scarf and taking it up to the register. 

They continue through the mall, slowly making their way through the sea of christmas-shoppers. It had been a mistake to go to such a big mall, Race realizes, and sighs as he almost walks into a tall man holding coffee. “Sorry,” he says, but the man only scoffs and continues walking. Race makes a grimace after him. “Happy holidays, asshole,” he says, but only loud enough that Spot can hear him. The comment earns him a small smirk, which results in his heart doing a double flip.

“Anyway,” Race says as they continue. They head for a craft-store filled with pictures of children laughing and gluing glitter to paper in the window. “Uh, you doing anything for Christmas Eve?”

Spot is looking at a packet of colorful scissors that can cut paper in different types of patterns. He looks very confused as he gestures at it. “Why would you need to be able to cut a piece of paper in zig-zag?” he asks and looks up at Race. 

“Uh, not sure,” Race answers. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Huh?”

“Christmas Eve.”

Spot blinks. “Oh.” he bites his bottom lip and shrugs. “Nothing, I guess. I’ll maybe see if any friends are free to hang out.”

Race nods slowly. Spot looks at him for a moment, as if expecting him to say something more, but when Race doesn’t he turns back to the shelf. They continue further into the store, where Race picks up some origami-paper for Maria, and also some wrapping paper. They amuse themselves for a couple of minutes with sorting through the different kinds to find the ugliest. They end up with a roll of bright pink and green with large, silver snowflakes and reindeers on it. As they head for the register, Race’s phone buzzes with an incoming text. He hands his items to a disgruntled looking Spot and unlocks his phone. 

**Jack to the groupchat, 14.16:**   
_this is the formal invite to my artshow!!!!! all my paintings for finals are being put up at this gallery in brooklyn, and i rly want you gys to be ther. its on the 21st @ 6 pm!!!!!!_

Race shows Spot the text. 

“Cool,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen any of Jack’s paintings in years.”

Race purses his lips and takes his stuff to put them on the table as they finally reach a cashier. “He’s painting a lot of landscapes, lately.”

Spot glances up. “Landscapes?”

Race types in the code for his debit card, and silently cheers when it isn’t declined. “Yeah. Santa fe.”

Spot looks up with raised eyebrows. “Santa fe? Really?” Race nods to him and then thanks the cashier who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else than at this place at this moment. They head out of the store. 

“He’s talking about some art-college there,” Race explains, and then glances at Spot. “I thought he would have told you about that.”

Spot shrugs, but he looks pensive. “He did, I just… didn’t think he was actually serious about it.”

“I don’t know if he is,” Race says. “He is really good at talking crap, so we’ll see what actually happens.”

Spot hums and nods in agreement. They walk in silence for a moment, but then Spot looks at Race again. He is working his jaw slightly, and his eyes flicker from Race to the decorations in the background. “Uh, Race, about Christmas Eve...” But he is stopped as Race’s phone buzzes again. Race gives Spot an apologetic look before unlocking his phone again. 

**Albert to Race, 14.18**   
_broo u still comin round l8er?_

**Race to Albert, 14.18**   
_yaaaa ill be there in half an hour tops_

“Sorry,” Race mutters to Spot. “I need to get going, I’m supposed to be at Albert’s pretty soon.”

At first it looks like Spot might say something, but he closes his mouth and nods instead. “Yeah, of course.” 

They leave the mall and its busy shoppers. There is a distinct feeling of winter in the air as they walk towards the subway, mostly it’s simply the smell of cold air surrounding them, turning the tip of their noses red and chilled. It’s not dark yet, but the cold that bites his cheeks is enough to make him immediately want to go inside again. He glances up and stops in his tracks when he sees small, white, flakes fall from the sky. 

“Look, it’s snowing!” 

Spot also stops, but not to look at the snow. Instead he is staring at Race, unable to tear his gaze away. He is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, a childish grin resting on his face. His eyes are looking up towards the invisible stars, and he lets out a short laugh when he puts out his tongue and manages to catch a snowflake. 

“You are such a child,” Spot says, but he can’t help the smile that is forming on his own face. Race’s happiness in infectious. He spins around, almost knocking three people over, and puts his arms out. 

“I am,” Race agrees and grins at Spot. “I love snow.”

Spot doesn’t say anything, and lets Race stand there for another minute. His fingers are clutching his shipping bag tightly, and a sudden wind makes him shiver. “Let’s go,” he says, and grabs a gentle hold of Race’s arm. “It’s fucking cold as hell out here.” 

Race laughs at that and bumps his body into Spot’s. “Come on,” he says, but complies and begins to walk. “You love it.”

He only gets silence as an answer, but Race is satisfied nonetheless. 

They say goodbye at the station and get on different trains. Race glances out of the window to the train he’s on, watching as Spot takes out his headphones from his jacket and puts them in. His dark hair contrasts beautifully with the white snow, Race thinks, and then he looks away because he really can’t be thinking about Spot’s hair. That won’t end well for either of them. 

He arrives at Albert’s place fifteen minutes later, his cheeks red and shivering. Albert let’s him in and laughs at the big smile Race has plastered on. “You good, man?” he asks, and Race nods. 

“It’s snowing,” he says and points out of the window. 

Albert nods at this. “Yes it is,” he says matter-of-factly. “You want an award for pointing out obvious things?”

Race makes a face at him and slumps down on the floor, his back against the kitchen wall. 

“You’ve been at the mall?” Albert asks and rummages through the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of soda. 

“Yeah, me and Spot went christmas-shopping together,” Race says and feels his smile grow even wider. He looks at Albert, who is looking down at him. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Albert says in a way that clearly states the opposite. He takes a sip from the bottle and shrugs slightly. “Uh, it’s just…” he thinks for a moment. “You and Spot?”

Race stares. “What about me and Spot?”

Albert makes a face. “I don’t know, man, I’m just wondering. What’s up with you two?”

“What d’you mean?” Race asks him, knowing clearly what he means. Albert rolls his eyes. 

“I ain’t stupid, Race,” he says. “I know there’s something going on.” He slides down and sits down on the floor next to Race. For a second Albert digs in his pocket to bring out a cigarette, but then stops as he sees Race’s face. He suddenly looks crestfallen, the happy smile he had just a minute ago gone without a trace. “What’s wrong?”

Race leans his head back against the wall. He is mindlessly tracing circles onto his jeans. There is a long stretch of silence, in which Albert patiently waits for him to say something. He is well aware of how Race works, and he knows it might take a moment for him to figure out what to say. After almost a minute, Race opens his mouth. “I don’t really know what we’re doing,” he confesses. 

Albert nods slowly. “But you’re in love with him.” It’s not really a question so much as an observation. 

Race is quiet for a second. “Yeah,” he says at last. “Of course I am.” 

It feels strange to say the words aloud. They have been unsaid for so long, he hasn’t let himself think about it. But now they are out there in the open, and there is nothing he can do to take them back. The scariest part, he thinks, is that he doesn’t really want to take them back. 

“Okay, cool,” Albert says and bumps his shoulder with Race’s. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

Albert rolls his eyes. “Obviously neither of you have the balls to just confess to each other, but you have to do something. Or are you just gonna keep being a coward?”

“I’m not a coward,” Race protests. “Fuck off.” 

Albert snorts. “You are though!” He has a wide grin on his face. Race gives him the middle finger, which only makes Albert grin wider. “I’m just telling the truth, man,” he says and puts up a hand in mock surrender. “You know I’m right. You just need to act on your feelings, damn the consequences.”

Race sighs and leans back, letting his head rest against the wall. “What if he gets freaked out?”

Albert shrugs. “Then he’s a dick.” He glances at Race’s incredulous face. “What? I’m right!”

“Fuck off,” Race mutters. 

Albert sighs. “If you’ve been fucking for, what, two months? And he still refuses to acknowledge that there’s something going on? Then, yeah, he’s a dick.”

Race doesn’t argue. Deep down he knows Albert is right. What he and Spot are doing has gone well past just an ordinary hook-up. They passed that stage weeks ago, hell, maybe they passed it from the beginning. They are just both too scared to actually say anything about it, because if you speak about it you admit to your feelings, and if you admit to your feelings you are vulnerable. Neither of them knows how to deal with that.

“Oh well.” Albert tips the soda bottle towards Race as if toasting him. “Here’s to not having the guts to talk about your feelings, huh?”

Race runs the short distance from the station to Spot’s apartment. He makes his way up the stairs in leaps, and by the time he’s arrived to the third floor he’s breathing heavily and sweating under his jacket. But he still doesn’t wait even a second before he rings the doorbell and waits for Spot to open up. He does, just a couple of moments later.

“Racetrack,” he greets with raised eyebrows and leans against the doorframe. “Hello.”

Race breathes heavily. Then he swallows and opens his mouth to say something, anything. He isn’t sure what, and it only results in nothing coming out. So he closes his mouth instead. Spot is still staring at him, and his lips are slightly parted and they look so kissable that Race lunges at him, pulling him close and pressing their lips together messily. 

After a couple of seconds of being too surprised to move, Spot kisses back. His hands come up in Race’s hair, tugging lightly, and Race breathes heavily into his mouth at the feeling. Suddenly hands are everywhere, at the same time, as if there isn’t enough time to touch, to feel, to taste. Race fumbles behind him for the door handle and succeeds in closing the front door without breaking apart, and Spot takes the opportunity to back Race into the newly discovered surface. Race wraps a leg around Spot’s waist, and without any hesitation Spot hoists him up and easily holds Race up, still pressed against the door. 

“We…” Race mumbles between pants as Spot moves to kiss his neck. “We should… Bedroom.” He doesn’t feel very eloquent, but Spot seems to get the message, because he just kisses Race again and then pulls him back. They stumble, both laughing, to the bedroom and fall into the bed. 

Afterwards, as they both lie side by side, it hits Race that he never said what he came here to say. A giddy form of happiness fills him, and he rolls over to face Spot.

“Spot?” he says softly, as if scared he’ll ruin the moment if he speaks too loud. 

Spot is laying on his back, a hand tossed over his head. He could have been the poster-boy for idyllic content. “Hm?” he says and turns to Race. His eyes are an incredibly deep brown when their gazes meet. If Race wasn’t lying down he would probably be swooning over those eyes. 

“Spend Christmas Eve with me,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it. 

The comment doesn’t seem to take Spot by surprise at all. Or, maybe it did, but he is just very good at hiding it. He is looking at Race through half-lidded eyes. 

“Christmas Eve?” he asks, and when Race brings up a hand to touch his jaw he closes his eyes at the feeling of fingers on skin. He breathes deeply. He’s not sure he’ll ever really get used to the soft touches Race always has in store for him. 

“Yeah,” Race says. “Eat dinner. You could meet my family. My sisters will be home from college.”

Spot doesn’t say anything for a couple of moments. He has opened his eyes again, and is staring at a spot behind Race. He is chewing on his tongue quietly.

“Spot?”

“Hm?”

Race moves his hand to the back of Spot’s neck, using it as leverage and pulls himself forward. His mouth ghosts over Spot’s, barely touching, his eyes fluttering close. He can feel Spot’s deep breathing against his lips. He closes the last distance between them as he presses his mouth against Race’s. He rests his hand on Race’s waist. Race moves his hand up to Spot’s hair. They spend a few moments trading lazy kisses, calm and collected like this is the most natural thing in the world.

They break apart a minute later, but stay close. Their noses are almost touching, their breaths mingle together. 

“Spend Christmas Eve with me,” Race repeats. His voice is clear and serious. Spot only sighs in response. He closes his eyes as Race runs a finger against his cheek. “Spend Christmas Eve with me and my family, and… Stop pretending we’re not a couple.”

Spot goes still. Race can hear his own heart beat in his ears. There it is. Finally spoken, out in the open. There is no turning back now. 

Spot doesn’t open his eyes. “We’re not a couple,” he mumbles, and Race scoffs before he can stop himself. Spot opens his eyes again and meets his gaze. “Anthony-”

He pulls away slightly. “No, don’t.” He can feel an icy shard of hurt hit his chest. It makes it hard to breathe. “Let’s… let’s not do ‘Anthony,’ okay?” He moves away, feeling the coldness of the room as soon as they are no longer touching. He sits up and drags a hand over his face. 

Spot sits up as well. He puts a hand on Race’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off. 

“Race -”

“No.” 

Spot goes quiet. Race shakes his head and glances back at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

The comment is met by silence. Race sighs. Spot is still not moving. 

Race can’t help but think of the last time he and Spot had a fight. He still remembers it vividly, one of the most prominent memories he has of 1899. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the feeling of looking at Spot and not getting that sense of right-ness he usually always felt around him. 

“Coward,” he had said. Spot hadn’t moved, only stared blindly ahead. 

“I’m tryin’ to protect us,” had been Spot’s reply, making Race scoff and spit at the ground. 

“From what?” he had asked, daring Spot to actually acknowledge whatever was between them. 

Spot hadn’t been able to answer. History repeats itself, Race thinks now, as he waits for Spot to say anything.

When he finally speaks, it’s not what Race expects him to say. 

“Maybe you should leave.”

It feels like a blow to the stomach, a punch that leaves Race on the ground, gasping for air. He can’t breathe. His lungs won’t work. So he just lies there, waiting for his body to do what it is supposed to. It takes a moment until he is able to move, able to actually do something.

He glances back at Spot, who isn’t looking at him. The shine he got from the afterglow is gone, leaving him looking smaller than ever. Race feels small, as well. He thinks he might have shrunk five inches during this conversation. 

“Okay,” he finally says, voice incredibly quiet, and he rises from the bed. The room is silent as he dresses. The cars and voices from the city remind Race how early in the day it still is. Why does it feel like it has been days since he and Spot had been at the mall together? Can it really only have been a couple of hours ago?

Lastly, he grabs his phone and jacket, and leaves the bedroom. He slams the door behind him and gets satisfaction both from hearing the loud noise and from putting a wall between himself and Spot. 

He leaves the apartment, vowing to himself to never take advice from Albert ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm....... sorry
> 
> As always, please leave a comment letting me know if you liked this chapter. Or if you want to yell at me. Either is fine
> 
> Say hi on tumblr! @pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The others don’t mention it to his face, but Race is not himself. He is snappy and irritated - the only exception being when he’s sleeping. It takes them all a while to understand what has happened, since he simply refuses to talk about it for days._

Finals come, like finals always do. If they thought they had not seen each other much while studying, it’s even less so during the weeks leading up to Christmas. 

The others don’t mention it to his face, but Race is not himself. He is snappy and irritated - the only exception being when he’s sleeping. He is so annoying that he even manages to piss Elmer off, which is an achievement in itself.

It takes them all a while to understand what has happened, since he simply refuses to talk about it for days. 

“It’s probably just exams,” Smalls says. Race has just stormed out of the library, muttering something about needing to be alone to focus on the paper he’s writing. It had been the first time in almost a week he had actually seen his friends, and it hadn’t gone great.

“I shouldn’t have snapped,” Elmer says and looks somewhat regretfully after Race, who is long gone. “We are all stressed about school, he didn’t deserve that.”

Albert is staring down into his book, refusing to acknowledge the topic of conversation. He knows why Race is so moody, of course. He had, after all, been the one who took care of Race right after he and Spot broke up. But he doesn’t say anything, because he knows that it’s not really his place to tell. So instead he keeps his head down and tries to actually get some work done, for once.

Race keeps his distance, and succeeds in doing so only because of how busy they all are. Christmas is coming up, Hanukkah is here, and their school work is doubling or tripling in intensity in the days leading up to the break. Jack is spending almost every day in the art studio, preparing for the exhibition as quickly as he possibly can. It’s almost ridiculous how much work he still needs to do before he is finished. One night he comes home late, hungry and tired, and finds Race and Crutchie on the couch. Race is wearing a pair of Jack’s old pyjamas, his hair is standing on edge and when Jack comes closer he can see the red-rimmed eyes. A small pang of worry hits Jack in the chest, and every thought about food or sleep escapes him. 

Crutchie barely pays Jack any attention - but hey, what else is new? - and instead continues speaking to Race as if no one has interrupted them. 

“You are allowed to be hurt,” he says and puts a hand on Race’s arm. “He broke your heart, you need to let yourself be sad about that.” Race shrugs the hand off, and Crutchie purses his lips slightly. 

“I just wanna get drunk and hook up with someone,” Race mutters, pitifully pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. 

Jack tries to catch Crutchie’s gaze, to ask what’s going on, but with no avail. “Uh,” he finally says, making Race’s head snap up in surprise. When he sees who it is, his shoulders relax slightly and he sinks back, almost merging into the couch itself. “What’s going on?” Jack asks. 

Crutchie glances at him with a look that’s hard to read. “Spot,” he says. Race groans quietly at the name and throws a pillow at him. Crutchie doesn’t look impressed. “Racetrack is being an idiot, repressing his feelings.”

Jack sits down in a chair besides the couch. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks. There is a moment or two of silence, where Race lets out a long dragged out sigh.

Crutchie clears his throat. “I think I got it, thanks,” he says, eyes fixed on Race who has dragged a blanket over his head. 

An unpleasant feeling of jealousy and hurt burns in Jack’s stomach. Why doesn’t Crutchie want him to help? It’s not like he knows Race better than Jack does. It’s not like he is automatically better at giving relationship advice than Jack is. So why is he the one who should help Race?

No one says anything. There is an air of slight awkwardness as Jack nods slowly. He ignores his rumbling stomach and stands up. “Fine,” he says and goes into his room without glancing back.

The next morning, Race’s mood has changed abruptly. Jack walks into the kitchen for some breakfast and finds him making scrambled eggs and humming to himself. “Uh, good morning,” Jack says and sits down. “How are you feeling, man?”

“I’m great,” Race says and makes a couple of spins on his way to the cabinet to get plates. When he passes Jack he grins, but it looks almost too wide for it to be natural.  
Jack gives him a look but doesn’t voice his concerns. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says and yawns. 

Race glances at him, and sees that his hands are covered in even more paint-stains than usual, and his t-shirt needed a wash about two weeks ago. “Did you sleep tonight, at all?” he asks him, but Jack just waves aside the question and lays his head down on the table. 

“I’m nearly finished with this piece,” he says into the surface. “I’m so close.” Race puts a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him and he raises his head slightly to take a whiff. “Food,” he states matter-of-factly and grabs a fork before starting to shuffle eggs into his mouth. 

Crutchie makes his way into the kitchen, yawning widely as he does. As if on queue, Jack goes stiff in his seat. His fork is frozen a couple of inches from his mouth. 

“Jesus christ,” Crutchie says and sits down at the table, leaning his crutches on the wall behind him. “When did we get to sleep last night? I’m exhausted.”

Race drums on the counter with his fingers. “Really? I feel great.”

Crutchie stares at him. “Uh, okay,” he says and narrows his eyes slightly.

Race shuffles more eggs on a new plate. “Anyway, if you ask Jack, the answer is that he never went to bed at all,” he says pointedly and glares at his friend. “Dude, you need to sleep.” 

Crutchie doesn’t cut into the conversation, only motions for Race to give him some eggs. 

Jack pointedly avoids looking at him. He ignores the burning feeling in his stomach from yesterday that makes an unwelcome return after disappearing during the night. He quickly stuffs his mouth full of eggs. “I need to finish this fucking painting,” he mutters while chewing.

“Race has a point,” Crutchie says, finally contributing to the conversation. 

His tone of voice is light and casual, which makes Jack’s eyes narrow. ”Fuck off, since when do you care?”

An uncomfortably thick silence spreads in the room. Race looks between his two friends, not sure what he’s supposed to do. 

Crutchie stares at Jack for a moment, then scoffs and shakes his head. “You do need to sleep, Jack, you’re being dramatic again.”

There is a loaded beat of silence, before Jack mutters something under his breath and averts his gaze from Crutchie. 

Race lets out a small breath of relief, and turns to pour some coffee in a mug. He sighs contentedly as he smells it. This is good. Coffee is good. Coffee isn’t starting drama with a life-long friend. Coffee isn’t rejecting him after they’ve hooked up for months. Coffee makes him feel alive after approximately two hours of sleep plus finals-stress. He doesn’t need Spot to calm him down, he has coffee. And math. Math has never lied to him, or pretended to be anything it’s not. Who needs a boyfriend when you can have coffee and math?

“Okay, what about you?” Crutchie asks and turns to Race, who looks surprised at the attention he’s suddenly getting. “You need to stop ignoring your feelings.”

Race grumbles. No matter how much he loves coffee, it can’t stop Crutchie from being nosy and supporting. 

“I’m feeling great,” he says decisively and begins to eat his own eggs. “I am definitely over him.” 

Crutchie raises his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “Okay, sure.” He checks his phone. “I mean, I just thought.... Given your history, and everything…”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Your… history? Can you really call it a history? You’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months, after all.”

Crutchie goes quiet. Damn, way to put his foot in his mouth. Race is staring at him with something close to panic in his eyes. When a moment goes by and it’s clear Crutchie isn’t going to say anything, Race opens his mouth. 

“Uh… You know… Our, uh…” He can see Crutchie shaking his head vigorously behind Jack, who looks confused. “We, me and Spot, we…” 

Okay, he’s dug himself this deep, why not go further? To hell with it. 

“We hooked up a couple of times when he was living at your mom’s.”

Crutchie closes his eyes as if silently praying for God to make Race less of a dumbass. The stunned silence in the room is broken by Jack letting out a sound somewhere between a snort and a disbelieving scoff. 

“Back in high school? Damn, that’s….” Jack shakes his head slowly. “That’s wild,” He wipes his face with a napkin. “I had no idea, I guess… you two must have been very good at hiding it.” His stiff grin falls off his face when he looks at the time on his phone. “Shit! I was gonna meet my lecturer today, I’m late.” Then he dashes out of the room to pull on some clothes. Both Race and Crutchie are sitting quietly, neither sure how to react to anything that’s going on. There is the dull sound of something big hitting the floor from Jack’s room, and then his voice again. “Everything is fine!”

“Uh, why are you meeting them?” Race yells out to the apartment. 

“Last check-up before the art-exhibit!” Jack’s body-less voice yells back. A minute later, he screams his goodbyes from the hallway and leaves the apartment. 

Crutchie raises his eyebrows at Race. “You and Spot hooked up in high-school, huh?” 

“I panicked!” Race exclaims, a bit defensive. “What would you have done?”

Crutchie shakes his head and glances to the doorway even though Jack is long gone. “Thank God he’s so oblivious.”

There is, of course, one other instance of people in their group actively avoiding each other. 

The whole situation with Mush, Blink, Romeo and Specs is getting out of control. The others, who are not directly involved with the fight, are sometimes trying to actively work against it. Crutchie invites them all to a movie-night, but the air in the room is… weird, to say the least. Romeo and Specs are sitting together on the sofa, basically on top of each other, not looking in the direction of Mush and Blink who are sitting on the floor at the other end of the room. They have a silent agreement not to acknowledge each other’s presence, but it only makes everyone on edge for the whole evening. It’s like they are sitting next to a bomb without knowing when it will go off. Even Jack notices something is wrong, even though no one has told him the actual reason behind the tension. 

So they all stop trying to force them to spend time together, because it’s obvious that is not going to work. Instead they come up with a plan to talk to them one-on-one. The first one to be approached is Mush, as they all agreed he’d probably be the easiest to convince. 

“Hey, Mushie,” Smalls says and casually slides in next to him. Mush looks up from his notebook, confused at his friend’s sudden appearance, but smiles. The big lecture-room is filling up with people, the class is starting in ten minutes. Smalls knows she has to be quick.

“What are you doing here?” Mush asks, sounding surprised but pleased. He and Smalls are friends, sure, but they don’t spend a lot of time with each other outside the group. It makes this visit seem almost forced, but he doesn’t mention it.

“I came to talk to you,” Smalls says seriously. Mush nods to show that he’s listening. She takes a deep breath. “You need to talk to Romeo.”

Mush’s smile falls. “Smalls-”

“No!” She puts out a hand to stop him in the middle of his sentence. “You are best friends, you just need to… Stop being idiots and move on.”

Mush gives her a look. “What, like Race and Spot?” is his dry response. 

Smalls’s eyes narrow slightly. Mush is lucky Race isn’t here right now, or someone would have been hurt. “Low blow, dude. But you know I’m right. You hate fighting with your friends.”

Mush stares at her, deep in thought. She waits patiently - or as patiently as she can - for him to answer. She knows she’s right. If there is one thing you can always count on when it comes to Mush, is that he loves his friends. He’s strong, and won’t back down from a fight, but he doesn’t like fighting with people he cares about.

Students are starting to sit down in the lecture hall. Mush glances around at his classmates to see if anyone is listening to the conversation. He shuffles in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Smalls bites her tongue, forcing herself to not say anything that might blow this. 

Mush sighs, at last. “Okay, I forgive him,” he says, turning back to Smalls. Her face breaks out into a smile, but he holds up a hand to show her he’s not done. “I forgive him, if he apologizes for almost blowing our whole…” He casts a glance over his shoulder. “Situation.”

After a moment of consideration, Smalls nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “I can maybe manage that.”

She feels relieved when she leaves the room just before the lecturer arrives. The last thing she wants is to get stuck in a room with an old person talking about philosophy for two hours. 

Katherine volunteers to try to reason with Romeo and Specs. She and Specs had gotten along great in 1899, so she figures she might have some pull there. Albert’s only comment is wishing her good luck and reminding her to knock before walking into their dorm, whatever that’s supposed to mean. When she arrives, she is met by a slightly disheveled-looking Romeo. His hair is messed up, his clothes are crumpled, and he looks kind of unsteady as he let’s Katherine in. At first, she worries she has interrupted them making out or something. But then she glances behind him and sees Specs, fully clothed, sitting at their desk chair. 

“Everything okay?” she asks them and drops her bag on the floor. Romeo glances at Specs with a meaningful look. Katherine immediately feels like she has missed something.

“Uh,” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “We’re… Well, Specs was… uh…”

Specs spins in his chair so he faces them. “Crying,” he provides. “That’s the verb you’re looking for.” He smiles at Romeo, but it looks slightly weak. 

“Oh,” Katherine says. Suddenly she feels like she’s trespassing. Maybe she’s over her head with this one. “Uh, any particular reason?”

Specs swallows and shrugs. Now that he mentioned it, Katherine can see how his eyes are a bit puffy and wet. It makes her heart ache a bit, but she pushes it down to concentrate on her friend. 

“We started listening to this podcast about the strike,” Romeo explains, his hand rubbing circles on Specs’ back. “We are trying to trigger his memories.”

Katherine’s mouth forms a small “o” and she nods in understanding. Of course. Romeo and Specs are facing their own problems, problems that the others have completely ignored because they don’t want to get in the middle of the fight. She feels ashamed for not actively trying to help Specs, for not being there for him like he deserves. She makes a face. “So, no luck?” she sums up, even though she knows the answer by looking at their grim faces. Both of them shake their heads. Katherine sighs. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Nah,” Romeo says. “Not really, we just need to find that one thing that will make him remember everything.”

Specs spins around on the chair slowly without meeting their gazes.

Katherine looks at Romeo, who just makes a face back and shrugs. She clears her throat. “Uh, you know, Specs, I read this thing, in a book from the library, about newsies strikes during-”

“So, uh, why are you here?” Specs interrupts. His mouth is set and his eyes fixed heavily on Katherines. Romeo scoffs quietly but doesn’t say anything, only lets the silence spread in the room. 

Katherine is taken aback by the sudden change in topic for a couple of seconds, but recovers quickly. “Um,” she starts, unsure of how to bring up the subject. Her hand is stuffed into her pocket, wrapped tightly around a pen. “I know this might not be a great time, but I’m here to make you both become friends with Mush and Blink again.”

Romeo is quiet, for once, and his face is stoically neutral when he looks at her. Specs sighs and drags a hand over his face. Katherine holds her breath. 

“I forgive them when Romeo does,” Specs says, shrugging slightly. “This is not my fight, so I’ll just… uh, stay on his side, I guess.”

Romeo crosses his arms and raises his chin definitely at Katherine. “Coming to us like this makes it seem like we were the ones in the wrong,” he says. “And we’re not.”

“Well -” Katherine starts, but is interrupted by Romeo continuing. 

“No!” he exclaims, gesticulating with his hands. “I’m not gonna stand here and just accept accusations like that. Yeah, I told Specs. But I don’t see it as a mistake, and I don’t think I deserved to get yelled at for doing it.” He grabs Specs’ hand. “I’m ready to forgive them when they apologize.”

Katherine leaves the dorm with a sinking feeling in her chest. She texts the others. 

**Katherine to the Save Mush/Blink/Specs/Romeo’s friendship group chat, 11.08**   
_No luck. Crutchie, Albert, you’re up._

They have saved Blink for last. And they have argued about who should talk to him. 

It’s not that Blink is scary, per se, it’s just… he can, sometimes, be the type of person who doesn’t listen to what people are trying to tell him. So even though none of the newsies are actually worried he will hurt them or yell at them, they do know that he will probably ignore whatever they are trying to explain.

They decided that they needed the perfect combination of sweet coaxing and chaotic persuasion. So, Crutchie and Albert, respectively. 

“No,” Blink says. 

“We haven’t even said anything!” Crutchie exclaims. Blink turns on his heel and continues walking down the sidewalk where Crutchie and Albert had cornered him. They follow him, Crutchie as quickly as possible with his crutches. 

“You don’t need to,” Blink says, not even glancing back to see if they are listening. “I know you talked to Mush, I don’t wanna listen to you trying to convince me.”

Albert grabs hold of his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Listen to some common sense, then,” he says. Blink slowly turns around, trying to look intimidating. But Albert has seen this guy fall asleep cuddling up to a stuffed animal while high. He doesn’t really scare him.

“Think about Jack,” Albert continues, his voice surprisingly level and serious. “Think about how much time he’s put into this art show. Do you really want to ruin that by fighting with Romeo the whole night?”

Blink stares at them for a second, then scoffs an turns his face away. “We wouldn’t ruin it,” he says. Albert can sense some sort of uncertainty in his voice, though.

“You would,” Crutchie says, also noticing it. “You know you would. Just… forgive each other, please.”

They all stare at each other for a few moments. Crutchie and Albert glance at each other as they see Blink think. Had they been convincing enough? Could this be the end of this whole thing?

“I’ll forgive him,” Blink begins. “If he apologizes.”

Both Crutchie and Albert sigh invertedly. On the outside, they smile. 

“Of course. We can arrange that.”

They are stuck in a circle where everybody in the equation expects the other to apologize, while refusing to acknowledge that they themselves were also in the wrong. 

**Albert to the Save Mush/Blink/Specs/Romeo’s friendship group chat, 16.18**   
_can i strangle them_

**Crutchie to the Save Mush/Blink/Specs/Romeo’s friendship group chat, 16.22**   
_No.... Jack wouldn’t accept death as a reason to miss his exhibit :(_

**Crutchie to the Save Mush/Blink/Specs/Romeo’s friendship group chat, 16.22**   
_And also. Death is bad_

**Albert to the Save Mush/Blink/Specs/Romeo’s friendship group chat, 16.23**   
_damn_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be honest with you, i'm not loving this chapter lmao
> 
> oh well
> 
> thank you for reading!! 
> 
> Say hello on tumblr!! (I love getting messages and asks aaaaa): @pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the art show.
> 
> _If Jack was able to see into the future, he would know that everything was not going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the wait, hopefully this chapter makes up for it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jack wakes up at dawn the day of the art show. Or maybe he hasn’t slept at all. Even he can’t tell. The only thing clear is that he is jittery with caffeine and sugar, since he’s on his third cup that morning and ate all of Crutchie’s chocolate for breakfast. 

He knows, in theory, that everything is going to be fine. He is prepared. Yesterday, he dropped off the last paintings at the gallery. He has gone through the invitation list - which is more a formality since the showing is free - about five times to be sure everyone is on it. Crutchie, Race, Albert, Romeo, Specs, Mush and Blink. Spot and Medda. After considering it he had even invited Davey, Smalls, and Elmer, even though he’s pretty sure none of them actually care about his paintings. They will probably only come for the promise of an afterparty, but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

Today he has showered, shaved, styled his hair and restyled it about ten times, and tried to eat something healthy but failed at getting down a single bite. Everytime he thinks about tonight, he feels a weird sort of giddiness that he can only connect with Christmas at Medda’s when he was younger. The only difference is of course that when spending Christmas at Medda’s, there was no chance of him disappointing everyone he cares about. But he can only try to listen to his mother’s words when they had talked on the phone the night before: “You will be surrounded by people who love you, who are there to support you. They are not there to judge you.”

It is going to be fine. Everything is going to be okay. 

If Jack was able to see into the future, he would know that everything was not going to be okay. But Jack can’t see into the future, so he doesn’t know that. As he leaves his apartment to go to the gallery, he isn’t aware of everything that’s going to happen before this day is over.

And, as fate would have it, the rest of the group isn’t aware of that, either.

*

Romeo and Specs have spent the whole day working. 

And when he says “working”, Romeo actually means “finding out as many sources of information about newsies in 1899 and looking through them in the hopes of something triggering Specs’ memories and him remembering their past life.”

So far, they’ve had no luck. 

“It’s hopeless,” Specs says and pulls out his headphones. They are watching a youtube-video about orphans in 19th century America. As the weeks have gone by, they have run out of things directly connected to the strike or the newsies, resulting in the need to be a bit more creative. Romeo has spent all his time searching the historic records he has access to, just to find something that might work. As time passes, he gets more and more desperate, more and more upset every time Specs shakes his head in defeat. But, this, hearing Specs outright tell him it’s not going to work? That it’s hopeless?

“Of course it’s not hopeless,” Romeo says and sits up in the bed.

Specs swings his legs over the side and sighs. “It obviously is,” he mutters, his voice unusually bitter, coming from him. 

Romeo scoffs. Most of the time he’s not so easily angered, but Specs’ attitude has gotten worse and worse over the last few days. It’s like he has given up, and that is the one   
thing Romeo refuses to let him do. If Specs gives up, then Romeo will give up, and they can’t just accept that this is the life they are going to live in the future. “Why does it feel like you don’t care about this?” 

Specs closes his eyes. Romeo puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I care,” Specs says, sighing. “I’m just… I don’t know, I still can’t really understand what is happening. I can’t relate to these videos or articles, it doesn’t feel like my life.” He shakes his head and throws down his headphones on the bed beside him. His voice is hoarse when he continues. “It feels like I’m digging in someone else’s business, someone else’s life. It’s not _me_ , it’s like a stranger.”

There is nothing Romeo can say to make the situation better - he knows that. No matter how hard he tries, he can never truly understand how Specs is feeling right now. He can try, and he does, but in the end Specs is truly alone in this. Romeo hates that. Being alone is sad and confusing, and he doesn’t want Specs to feel that way. But what can he do, if there’s no way to help him?

“Sweetheart,”he says. “We can’t stop now, we can’t just… give up.”

“Is it really giving up?” Specs asks. “Can’t we just call it ‘admitting defeat?’” 

Still not really knowing what to say, Romeo shakes his head. Specs glances back at him. His eyes are dark and tired, and Romeo can’t stop himself from pulling him a bit closer, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Specs’ body is warm and steady, a constant figure. An unmovable object. In that case, Romeo must be the unstoppable force. He rather likes that metaphor, actually. 

“I need some air,” Specs says, and Romeo doesn’t comment on how his voice sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. 

“Okay,” he says and also ignores his own feeling of hurt. If he can’t help Specs feel better, who can?

Specs rises from the bed and pulls on his shoes and jacket. Romeo watches him from the bed. 

“See you at the art show?” Specs suggests while avoiding eye contact. Romeo nods mutely. He doesn’t know what to say.

The room is cold and silent when Specs leaves. 

*

Jack gets to the gallery half an hour before the exhibit is supposed to begin. He walks in, a nervous sort of giddiness ever so present in his body. He greets his classmates enthusiastically and shakes hands with the owner of the venue. He sees the tables filled with snacks and drinks. There are even champagne glasses in a corner, albeit made of plastic, and he wonders with glee how much money the school is hoping to gain from the entrance fees.

He looks around the room and can’t stop the wide smile from spreading across his face.

*

Race is kind of proud of himself for having his life together.

Sure, he had slept until twelve and then stayed under the covers for another hour. When he had dragged himself out of bed and into the shower it had been well into the afternoon already. It hadn’t been his proudest moment. The day before, he had written his last exam for this term and celebrated by going out with Mush and Blink, so the fact that he is even alive should count for something.

And he showered, at least. That’s more than he had done for the last couple of days. He had even shaved, which he thinks should earn him a gold-star. His clothes are actually presentable for once, and not just his old hoodies or t-shirts he usually wears. He has a dark blue button down with a pair of jeans that are actually clean. He is even wearing a blazer, a gesture which he thinks almost grants him the right to be best man at Jack’s future wedding. That’s how much effort he has put into this art show. He is fucking ready.   
He is less proud of the fact that he can feel the energy draining out of him as soon as he sits down for a second. He is already late, he doesn’t really have time to relax, but he can’t help it. Another social gathering the day after one is almost too much for him to handle right now. He has gotten used to studying all day and then going home to fall into his bed. It has been a good system, as it has given him no time to actually think about Spot and how he’s actually feeling. It has been easier to just focus on school and nothing else. 

But now school is done until after christmas, and he can feel a surge of anxiety spread through his chest as he thinks about what that entails. Spot will probably be there tonight. He’s invited, at least. Race sighs and throws himself back on his bed. Is there a possibility he can simply skip the art-show so he won’t have to talk to him? 

No. No possibility. Jack would never speak to him again. 

He drags a hand over his face and takes a deep breath before sitting up again. It’ll be fine. 

He grabs his phone to text Jack that he’s on his way, but before he has the chance to do that there is a knock on the door. He glances up, slightly confused. Who could be trying to get in contact with him now? All his friends must be on their way to Brooklyn already. The only other possible explanation would be Albert coming to pick him up on the way, but he would text before. 

Race stands up and opens the door, coming face to face with Spot Conlon.

“No,” Race says and tries to shut the door. 

Spot pushes his foot in the gap. “Race, please,” he says. “Can we talk?”

Race doesn’t move, only stares at Spot. Spot, who only a couple of weeks before had asked him to leave the apartment. Who didn’t want him there. Who has no right to just waltz in here and demand that Race talks to him.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Race asks and hopes his voice is as bitter as he feels. “I think you said everything last time, don’t you?” 

Spot shakes his head. “No! Or, yes.” He scrunches up his eyes and and sighs deeply. “Listen, I thought I did, okay? I thought I said everything I wanted to, but I…” He opens his eyes again to look at Race. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

There are a lot of things Race could expect to hear from Spot Conlon. Insults, which came frequently and just as often were reciprocated just as enthusiastically. If he was lucky, and Race would consider himself quite lucky in this case, he could also expect to hear Spot talk while sleeping. It had happened once in 1899, as far as Race could remember. It had been winter, and a vicious snowstorm had made Spot refuse to let Race walk home to Manhattan. In his opinion, the only option had been to have Race share his bed to sleep. Not that Race had gotten much sleep that night. No, he had laid there and listened to the soft exhales of air from the boy beside him, and sometimes the quiet words he would mumble as he rested. Race had never heard Spot sleep-talk before, and - even though they have shared quite a few beds over the last couple of months - he has never heard him do it ever again.

Spot had also loved talking about how to make a group of young boys trust you and still be a scared of you. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lil bit of fear,” he had said one day as they were eating. He had come around the Sheephead’s around noon and stood beside Race all broodily and angry, scaring away all the customers, until Race had suggested a break for lunch. They had been sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the edge. 

“That ain’t how we do things in Manhattan,” Race had said and stolen a piece of bread from Spot in exchange for an apple slice. “Jack usually-”

“Jack ain’t half the leader I am,” Spot had said and puffed up his chest a bit. 

This almost desperate show of masculinity had made Race laugh until he couldn't breathe. He had laid down on the ground, chest heaving with every shaky puff of air. “You’s kidding, Spotty,” he had said between laughs. 

Spot had looked down on him with a hint of indignation in his eyes, and also something else Race couldn’t really place. 

Now, Spot’s eyes are determined, hopeful and almost a bit desperate as he stares at Race through the small crack in the door. With a burst of strength he didn’t know he had, Race manages to push him out of the way and close the door. The click of the lock makes his heart rate slow down significantly. He breathes deeply and slides down to the floor. 

Spot knocks on the door again. His voice can still be heard.“Please.”

Race shakes his head numbly, even though Spot can’t see him. “I have nothing more to say.”

“But I do.” There is a sigh heard from the other side of the door. “Anthony, please let me in.”

A second passes where Race feels himself choking on air. Without saying anything he stands up and unlocks the door. In his mind, he is yelling at himself. What the fuck is he doing? Is he really so pathetic and desperate that he’ll do anything for Spot as long as he calls him Anthony?

Yeah. The answer is definitely yes. 

After a moment of hesitance, Spot opens the door and steps inside. “Uh. Hi.” Race takes a step back. Spot closes the door behind him. “I’m… I’m not good at this.”

Race raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he says, dryness seeping out between his words. “I couldn’t tell.” He is satisfied with the bite in his words. 

Spot gives him a look but doesn’t comment. “And,” he continues as if Race hasn’t said anything. “I’m not here to apologize.”

This makes Race raise his eyebrows even further “No?” he asks. “Well, then you can just get the fuck out of here.”

Spot stares. Race stares back. 

“Race-”

He nods to the door. “You heard me.”

Spot hold up is hands in surrender. “You know I’m not, uh… Used to… relationships,” he says. His gaze is moving around the room, not staying on any place for too long. 

“Sure,” Race says slowly, his mind running haywire trying to understand the situation. 

“And you know I left Medda because, well…”

Ah, yes. How could he forget? The moment is still so clear in Race’s mind. Standing next to Spot at the party. A room filled with people, but them only talking to each other. Now he knows that the connection he felt then had some actual reasoning behind it, of course. 

“Commitment issues?” Race provides when Spot seems to struggle with finding the words. 

He nods numbly. “Yeah, something like that. And we… Us…”

Race’s hands are shaking. He hasn’t noticed how hard his heart is beating until this very second, but now that he has he can’t stop thinking about it. He wants to drink some water, because every time he swallows he feels his throat closing up more and more. 

“Us?” he manages to get out, and Spot meets his gaze. 

What “them” is he talking about? Them from 1899, when they both had been too scared to do anything except pine and ignore? When danger had lurked around every corner for both of them, and when they had both grown up to believe they shouldn’t, they couldn’t, act on their feelings? Or does he mean the Spot and Race from the 21st century, the two guys who found it easier to ignore any real feelings and not talk about it, while still continuing to sleep together and just act like it’s completely normal?

Maybe it’s a mix of them. Because, after all, that’s what they are. The last months have proved that over and over again. They are not normal 21st century guys, that’s clear. But they are not from 1899 either. 

Spot clears his throat again. Race wonders briefly if his mouth is as dry as his own. 

“We got too real, too fast,” Spot mumbles.

“Too fast?” Race echoes with a small hint of bitter humor in it. “You think us pining after each other without doing anything about it for months, for years, is too fast?” Spot is staring, clearly a bit taken aback. Race doesn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him answer. “As far as I’m concerned,” he says and takes a small step closer to Spot. “We’ve been waiting for one hundred and twenty years. Is that really ‘too fast’?”

He is looking down at Spot, and Spot is meeting his gaze with the same neutral mask he always wears. Race suddenly gets a weird craving to hit him, punch him right in his stoic face, if only to get some sort of reaction out of him. “I know it’s scary,” he says, working his jaw and trying to keep his voice level. He is itching to move, to do anything except stand still like this. “Believe me, I am scared shitless of this.”

“You are?” Spot asks. His voice sounds so small that it makes Race stop for a second. 

“Yeah,” he says. He can hear how much softer he sounds, and curses his inability to act tough when Spot is showing any sign of weakness. “Of course I am, because I remember living then as much as you do.” He shrugs. “And even if you ignore that shitty part of it, it’s always scary to open up to someone and trust them.”

Spot nods slowly. His eyes are fixed on Race’s. “I told you I’ve been thinking about you the last few weeks.”

Race smiles slightly. “Yeah?” he can feel his smile turn almost teasing, but controls it. He waits for Spot to continue.

“It is what made me realize,” Spot says. “That you are the person I want to spend time with, no matter what.” He lets out a small laugh, almost surprised. “I convinced myself for a while you weren’t, just because it was easier, but…” He shakes his head. “At the end of the day, it was always you, wasn’t it?”

As Spot speaks, Race’s heart is doing funny stuff, making him feel warm in his whole body. The close proximity gets the best of him, and he places a hand of Spot’s cheek. He leans into the touch slightly. 

“What are you saying?” Race asks him. The words come out as a whisper. 

Spot looks up at him. “What I’m saying is…” He trails off when Race shakes his head to stop him. “What?”

“You never apologized.”

Spot tilts his head and sighs. “Okay,” he says with a nod. “You were right, I should have done that the minute I got here. I’m sorry for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.“

Race smiles tightly. “Thank you,” he says. “Alright, now you can continue.”

Spot laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. His eyes are shining. “I was just going to ask you if you could kiss me?” 

Race obliges. 

*

Medda arrives early, engulfing Jack in a tight, warm hug. All of his doubts and fears seem to float away as his mother smiles at him. 

“You feeling alright?” she asks him, rubbing his back soothingly. 

He can only smile back. “Yeah, I’m great.”

She pats him on the cheek and then looks around the room. “Well, give me a tour of your work, then!” 

Jack nods and takes her hand, starting to drag her around the exhibit to show her his paintings.

*

David is never late to anything, ever. It is almost ridiculous how carefully he plans his hours so that we won’t keep anyone waiting for him. This means that he is right on schedule by the time he leaves his apartment to go to the art show. There is a spring in his steps from excitement, but also a buzzing sort of nervousness of the prospect of seeing Jack.

They have been getting closer, to David’s satisfaction. Of course, they are still not close, not by normal standards and definitely not by their standard. But they talk like normal people now. He has helped Jack out with his speech a couple of times. He knows Jack feels rather guilty for not knowing what to do in return, but David honestly doesn’t care. He is happy to help out, and not just because it’s Jack. 

Only a little bit because it’s Jack. 

But he would probably do the same for any other of the newsies, so. Yeah. He’s not totally pathetic. Right?

His own feelings are still annoyingly present whenever they meet. Just seeing Jack brings back all these memories he otherwise tries to not think about too much. He only wanted to live his life in peace, to move on and ignore all of this craziness that happened this fall. But it’s basically impossible when Jack is sitting there and smiles like he does and-

Okay. He’s calm. Everything’s fine. 

He arrives to the train station and starts making his way through the large crowd of people coming up from the platform. It’s rush hour, everybody going home after finishing work. David almost walks into a tall woman who’s on her phone, talking rapidly. He sways aside and sighs when he feels warmness spread from his chest and up to his throat. He doesn’t like crowds, he never has. He is just about to get away from the people so he can take a breath, but is stopped by a buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and answers when he sees Sarah’s name on the screen. “Hello?” 

“Davey, oh my God, you need to get to my place right now.”

David stops in his tracks. An icy feeling spreads from his chest and out to the tips of his fingers when he hears the slightly desperate tone of Sarah’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

Sarah takes a few deep breaths to calm down, only making David more freaked out. 

“Sarah, please, tell me what has happened.” He is turning around and heading out of the subway again. Sarah’s voice is strained when she answers. 

“It’s Les,” she manages to get out. “Something’s wrong, he’s… he’s hurt.”

*

“It’s wonderful, Jack,” says Medda and shakes her head slightly. “I can see you’ve worked so hard on this.”

Jack gazes up at the paintings on the walls. “Yeah,” he says. He glances around the room. People are mingling, watching the paintings and drinking drinks. The chatter in the room makes Jack’s skin crawl. What are they saying? Do they like the paintings? Or are they criticizing them?

The gallery opened their doors thirty minutes ago, and still none of his friends have showed up yet. He glances at the entrance, but it’s as stubbornly closed as ever. He cringes at the stiffness of his new shirt, and tugs at the collar.

Medda hums quietly as she inspects the painting in front of her. “I know where you got your inspiration from,” she says with a knowing smirk in Jack’s direction. He smiles. 

“It’s beautiful, right?” He sighs and takes in the swirl of colors on the canvas. “Beautiful enough to make me wanna leave this stinking place.”

Medda lets out a small laugh and kisses him on the cheek before continuing down the line of paintings. 

Jack glances at the door once again, his smile faltering as he does.

*

“Katherine? May I have a word with you?”

Katherine looks up from her desk in surprise. Her editor is looking down at her, gaze stern in a way that makes Katherine pity him. It’s almost amusing how much of a try-hard he is, given that he is only a couple of years older than her, and technically in the same year as she.

“Sorry, Max, I was actually just heading out,” Katherine says and rummages through her purse. She is telling the truth, she has just turned off the computer and began to grab her stuff to leave. They are the last two people left in the small office space given to the school newspaper, as everybody else have already gone home for the night. Her desk is overfilled with papers, notes and pens of different kinds, and it makes it hard for her to find her keys. She seriously needs to tidy up here. “I have this thing tonight, and I’m already pretty late-”

“Okay,” Max interrupts and sits down on the desk next to her. “I’ll try to be short.”

Katherine sighs invertedly but doesn’t say anything. If this makes her late for Jack’s art show, she will definitely blame Max. Max, the slimy asshole, whose hair is slicked back into perfection and always wears a smug smirk that makes Katherine want to punch him in the face. She has the funny feeling that if he had existed in the 19th century, he would have been one of the men she had tried to stay clear of at her father’s parties. An oily, smirking, foul man who didn’t expect her to be able to write anything. 

“I read your latest article,” Max says, successfully pulling Katherine from her thoughts. She smiles slightly. 

If she is being honest with herself - and she always tries to be - she is kind of proud of her latest article. A lot of work had gone into it. She had spent weeks interviewing as many women as she could possibly get a hold of, trying to get a wider picture of how the word works. Smalls had been right from the beginning, if Katherine wants to make a difference she will have to let other women speak in her place. She holds one perspective, but there is strength in numbers. 

She has met with a couple of trans and queer women that she got in contact with through Elmer. She has looked at different student-run organizations in the school - especially student activist groups - to find a diverse group of women with different thoughts and experiences. She has, after begging Jack for it, even gotten Medda’s number and payed a visit to the theatre that she worked at. They spent a lovely afternoon drinking coffee and discussing feminism together, and Katherine had left the building satisfied and also very impressed by how much Medda knew of the suffragette movement in New York City. 

She was proud of her piece. It was well informed, well written, and expressed opinions that she could get behind 100%.

“I don’t think we can publish it,” Max says. 

Katherine’s smile falls. “What?”

Max sighs, like having this conversation is a personal sacrifice to him. “You know, I let the latest article pass, because it was something new, right?”

“Right,” Katherine says, not really hearing what he’s saying. Her purse lies forgotten in her lap.

“But this?” Max gestures towards Katherine’s computer. “It’s too much, Katherine. You are a talented writer, but no one wants to read two pages of people whining. It’s not news.”

“It’s social issues,” Katherine says. She is incredibly pleased by the fact that her voice is not shaking. “It’s important.”

“It may be,” Max says. “But it won’t work in a school newspaper.” 

“It’s a college newspaper in one of the largest city in the world!” Katherine argues. “You probably won’t find any more liberals than at a college campus in New York City.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I won’t print it.” He rises from the desk and claps her on the shoulder in a way that makes Katherine want to puke. “Next issue you can write about the New Years Eve party the jazz club is organizing, okay?”

Katherine doesn’t say anything, only stares at him numbly as he bids her goodnight and heads into the editors office. She stares ahead without really seeing anything. Every thought she has gets jumbled up in a tangled mess in her brain, leaving her unable to think straight. A desire to leave the office and slam the door burns in her chest, growing as the seconds pass. But she isn’t sure her legs will keep her upright. So she stays for another minute, staring ahead without moving.

She wants to talk to someone about this. She needs to rant, to yell, maybe even cry a little bit. It is the only thing that can make her feel better, getting some sort of confirmation that Max is the one who’s in the wrong here, not her. But who would she talk to? A hundred and twenty years ago, her first instinct would have been Jack. Even if he never truly understood the process of writing an article and getting it published, he was always well aware of how the industry worked. And he always let her talk without interrupting. He had been one of the few people who let her be angry without questioning it, because he knew how unfair life could be. Their situations couldn’t be compared to each other, but there still had been some sort of mutual understanding and respect.

But Jack wouldn’t care now. It would only be weird to call him. The last time she really talked to him was when they realized that they weren’t going to work out, and since then it had been a bit awkward between them, as it is when two friends date and then break up. No resentment - at least not on Katherine’s part - but some mildly cold politeness. 

Who she really wishes she could talk to are Bill and Darcy. Not only had they been her best friends in 1899, they had been the ones in her life who truly understood the difficulties of growing up in families like hers. They had been with her at every dinner, every party, every meeting. They had always supported her trying to build her own career instead of riding on the back of her father’s. They would have understood exactly how she feels right now. They would have come up with actual advice on how to deal with this situation.   
But they are not here. Katherine doesn’t know where they are. Or it they are here at all, any longer. But thinking about them is the last straw and suddenly she can feel a prickling behind her eyes. 

Quickly she grabs her phone and coat and leaves the office without looking back. She doesn’t say goodbye to Max, she doesn’t even turn off her desk lamp. When she comes out of the building she remembers that it’s winter, and shrugs the coat on. She walks quickly, rounds a corner and arrives in a deserted alleyway. She slides down against the brick wall. Her breathing is uneven, and when she closes her eyes she can feel tears spilling over. 

*

Jack glances at his watch. Again. His leg is bouncing up and down as he sits on one of the couches. He is holding a tall glass of sparkling cider, but he wishes Medda had given him something a bit stronger. 

Speaking of his mom, she comes up and puts a hand on his shoulder. He glances up. 

“I’ve had lots of people come up to me asking about you,” she says with a slightly stern gaze. “I sound pretty stupid if I can’t keep track of my own son.”

Jack smiles faintly at her. “I’m sorry. I just…” he glances towards the door again. Medda’s gaze softens.

“They will be here,” she promises, but the lines around her mouth are more prominent than usual. She strokes Jack’s cheek, and he leans into the touch slightly.   
“Congratulations, by the way,” she says softly, and Jack opens his eyes. The knowing glint in her eyes makes him realize that she’s not talking about the art show. 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “I’m… I’m still not sure I’ll do it, though.”

Medda nods slowly. She doesn’t look sad. A bit melancholy, maybe, but mostly proud. “I know you will make the right decision,” she says. “Just follow your heart.”

*

Elmer, Smalls and Albert are on their way to the art show. 

That’s what Albert tells Race over text, at least. The truth is that all three of them are very hungry, and that will probably make them a little bit late. Personally, Albert thinks that is a pretty reasonable excuse, even though some of his friends might disagree. But it doesn’t matter what they would think, because they aren’t here. Race isn’t even answering the text Albert is sending him, but he figures it just means that he’s already at the art show.

“Maybe there will be food there?” Elmer suggests hopefully. 

Smalls pats them on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t count on it,” she says. “Those places only have fancy pretzels and over-prized drinks.”

Albert points at her in agreement. “That’s true. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle a whole night with Mush, Blink and Romeo in the same room without drinking.”

“Cheers to that,” Smalls mutters and sighs. 

They are walking down the street, all dressed way fancier than they usually are. Which, in Albert’s case, means that he is actually wearing a clean shirt for once, and boots instead of sneakers. 

“You don’t fit the dress-code,” Elmer had said when they arrived at Albert’s dorm with Smalls just half an hour ago. They are wearing a button-down shirt with so many colours that Albert gets a headache just looking at it, along with a long skirt that can’t make it easier to walk down the icy street. Albert is somewhere between impressed and slightly intimidated.

“I do!” he had said. “It said casually formal, right?”

Elmer had not agreed that a snapback and jeans could be considered “casually formal,” but Albert figures that that is their problem, and not his. Smalls had stayed out of the conversation, secretly agreeing with Albert but not wanting her best friend to think she’s not siding with them. 

“Maybe we can grab something quick to eat before,” Albert suggests. He feels the hunger gnaw at his stomach.

“That bar down the street has pretty good drinks, right?” Smalls asks. “We could pre-game.”

Elmer and Albert woop appreciatively at this idea, and they quickly cross the street to make a quick stop at the bar before heading to the gallery. 

It’s only when they are standing inside, ready to eat and get reasonably drunk, that they remember one minor detail.

“Wait, isn’t this the bar where…”

“Yeah.”

They exchange glances. Smalls opens her mouth and takes a hesitant step backwards, towards the door. “Can we, uh.... Before he notices us?”

Elmer looks unsure. “It should be fine, right? I mean, he doesn’t know who we are.” 

Albert and Smalls nod slowly. The bar is very ordinary with absolutely nothing suggesting that something bad will happen, but they still stand rooted to the same spot another couple of moments. When nothing happens, and they don’t notice anything strange, they start to walk in and sit down hesitantly at the bar. Albert shrugs off his jacket and waves at the bartender to order. Smalls goes nuts on the peanuts. Elmer grabs their phone to see if anyone in the group chat has sent anything.

They are just beginning to relax when they hear a loud crash. 

The three of them all spring up from their seats, looking around the bar to see what caused the sound. 

Finch is staring at them with wide eyes. At his feet is a tray and what used to be about three glasses filled with drinks. The first thing Albert can register is the fact that he is wearing an apron wrapped around his waist, and second of all that the tips of his hair is dyed dark blue. Maybe those are things he should have noticed last time he visited this bar and saw Finch for the first time, but he blames it on the first initial shock. 

For a moment, they all stare at Finch, and he stares back. People are beginning to pay attention to them. Smalls shifts next to Albert, glancing around the room. 

“Um,” Elmer says, taking a small step forward. “Are you okay?”

Finch doesn’t say anything. The music playing in the speakers is slightly too loud, and Albert can feel his head throb in the same beat as the bass. There is another moment where nothing is said, and then Finch suddenly turns and all but runs back behind the bar and into a backroom, disappearing out of sight. 

Elmer, Smalls and Albert look at each other for a second before hurrying after him. 

*

Jack has gotten his hands on something stronger than sparkling cider. He isn’t so desperate that he is planning to get drunk, he isn't even tipsy, but he still downs the glass of red wine one of his classmates pushed into his hands a minute ago. He sighs deeply and pulls his phone from his pocket. 

**Jack to the Groupchat, 18.36:**   
_where r u gys????_

**Jack to the Groupchat, 19.03**   
_i’m not mad or nythng, just wondring if ure coming_

**Jack to the Groupchat, 19.28:**   
_just let me know when you r on ur way i guess_

*

By the time David arrives at Sarah’s dorm room, his heart is beating out of his chest and his clothes are a crumpled mess. He can feel his breaths force their way out of his lungs, his whole body on autopilot without him being able to control his movements. He knocks on the door and - when it takes longer than a second for Sarah to answer - opens it and runs in. 

“Where is he, is he alright?”

Sarah looks up. She is sitting beside her bed, chin resting on the mattress. Les is lying there, covered in about three comforters. He looks incredibly small when he slowly opens his eyes at David’s arrival. 

Sarah hastily rises from the floor and pulls David into a tight hug. He barely has the mental capacity to hug her back, all his focus is on his brother. 

“He is feeling better,” Sarah says with a surprising amount of calmness. Of course, David thinks, she is studying to become a doctor. And she has been here the whole time, making sure Les is alright. She has had the chance to calm down slightly. David hasn’t. He can still feel his whole body protesting the amount of stress he has gone through the last thirty minutes. As he walks up to the bed, he can feel his legs wobble slightly, and he understands why Sarah decided to sit on the floor. He sinks down next to the bed, grabbing hold of Les’s hand. 

“How’re you feeling, buddy?” he asks, focusing on making his voice sound soothing. 

Les smiles faintly. “I’m great,” he says, but he sounds tired. 

“He had a fever before,” Sarah says. “He threw up, and… he’s been hallucinating-”

Les shakes his head. “No, I haven’t-”

“-talking about things that aren’t real-”

“It is real!”

Sarah bites her bottom lip and looks pleadingly at David. “He is talking about some sort of strike? And, ah… something about newspapers?”

Another sort of shock goes through David’s body at these words, a new sort of surprise and uneasiness. How did he not think about this? He has barely considered the possibility of Les remembering. It hasn’t been anything to dwell on, not something he ever believed would happen. Now, of course, it seems perfectly reasonable. If everybody else remembers, why wouldn’t Les? David hastily glances back at his little brother, who is looking at him. They observe each other in silence for a couple of seconds. David lays a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes the way their father always used to do whenever they were sick. No one says anything for a while, not even Sarah who just stares at them in silence. David continues to stroke Les’s hair slowly, ignoring that it is slightly damp of sweat. 

“Everything is okay, I promise,” David mumbles. “You can relax.”

*

His paintings aren’t even that good. They are messy and not well put together and he can think of ten thousand things he wants to change just by looking at them right now.   
People are walking around him, talking to each other and viewing the art. The voices float into nothingness around him. He can’t hear any of them. Nothing surrounding him makes any sort of impact. All he can focus on is the painting directly in front of him. Taunting him.

The letter in the front pocket of his blazer burns.

*

Mush, Blink, and Crutchie arrive at the subway station just a couple of minutes late, making them miss their train. It had been a whole thing about their clothes; Blink found it ridiculous that they were forced into “casually formal” clothes when Jack knew perfectly well that none of them had the money to buy even a tie, much less a blazer. 

“You don’t need a blazer,” Mush had said an hour before while he was styling his hair. “A clean shirt is fine. Oh, but don’t wear your blue jeans.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to wear, then?” Blink had asked and ripped out half of his clothes onto the floor in frustration. His roommate had, luckily, left for the evening when he had heard that Mush was coming over to get ready. 

Mush had glanced back at his boyfriend and rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Your green button down is fine.”

Blink had hesitantly picked the shirt up and begrudgingly agreed that it looked pretty good on him. 

Crutchie had joined them a while before they left, suggesting that they’d go there together. He had also brought a pizza for them to share, so they couldn’t really say no.  
Now, the three of them walk down the stairs to the platform. Mush and Blink are walking hand in hand. Blink glances at his phone. The group chat has been suspiciously quiet the whole day, but he figures that it just means everybody has been very busy. It doesn’t have to mean something has happened, really. He still checks his phone again and sighs when he sees that he hasn’t gotten a reply yet to his question of when everybody was getting there and if anyone wants to meet up before.

Mush is talking about one of his classes as they get to the bottom of the stairs. They walk through a big crowd of people leaving a train, slowing down slightly to not walk into someone, and then stop completely when they get a better look at the platform.

“Great,” Blink mutters, and Mush squeezes his hand. He can hear Crutchie sigh in exasperation beside them.

Romeo is standing a few feet ahead of them, casually leaning against a brick pillar while typing on his phone. 

“We can’t wait for another train,” Mush says hesitantly, as if he isn’t completely convinced. “We’re already late.”

Blink doesn’t say anything, just purses his lips. It takes only a moment for Romeo to feel the stares on him, and he glances up. As he sees Mush and Blink, his face goes from neutral, to surprised, to contempt, and then back to neutral. He brings up his hand and does a small wave in greeting.

“Ignoring him is out of the question, I presume?” Blink asks quietly, and Crutchie makes a frustrated sound.

“Of course it is, come on.” He grabs a hold of Blink’s shoulder and pushes them both forward, forcing them to tumble in the direction of Romeo.

Romeo actually looks surprised to see them walk up to him. He puts his phone into the pocket of his coat, and stiffly nods to them. “Hello.”

There is an awkward silence. Blink regrets letting Crutchie walk with them. Damn him and his pizza.

“Hey, Ro,” Crutchie says lightly and smiles. “You good?”

Romeo shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s evident he’s not. Mush kind of wants to ask him what’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth. Blink is holding onto his hand in an iron grip, effectively cutting off the blood circulation to his fingers. 

“Where’s Specs?” Crutchie asks when it’s clear neither Blink or Mush are going to step in to continue the conversation. Romeo sighs, and takes out his phone to check for any new texts. 

“He should be on his way to the gallery,” he mutters. 

In the distance, the unmistakable sound of a train approaching can be heard. Mush looks at the train tracks, just to have something else to do than acknowledge the scene he’s a part of. 

They climb aboard the train and stand in silence as the doors close. A young woman stands up to let Crutchie sit down, and he smiles kindly and thanks her. People around them make room as they are forced to huddle together. Blink ends up uncomfortably close to Romeo as a man with a bike comes onto the train at the next stop. Crutchie glances from one friend to the other. He rolls his eyes. “You guys seriously need to grow up.” He grabs his phone and headphones from his pocket and proceeds to ignore his friends in order to listen to music. 

Romeo, Blink and Mush glance at each other. “Uh,” Mush starts. Both Romeo and Blink look at him, slightly surprised at the fact that he’s initiating a conversation. “I don’t think-”

He is stopped as the train slows down unexpectedly. They glance through the windows, but it’s impossible to tell where they are as they are stuck in one of the tunnels. The darkness outside is impossible to see through, and it makes the whole compartment dull and moody. Crutchie pulls out his headphones as the overhead speaker crackles to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some unexpected delay. Sit tight, and we will try to get going soon.”

The four of them groan in unison. 

Crutchie drags a hand over his face. “We are already pretty late,” he complains, glancing at his phone. “I’ll text Jack to let him know we’re on our way.” His frown deepens after a minute of typing. “No reception.” He puts his phone away, and sighs. Then he glances up at his friends. “Looks like we are stuck in here for while. You three ready to talk it out?”

Blink, Mush and Romeo all open their mouths to object, but Crutchie narrows his eyes. It is an effective way of making people go quiet, he has noticed. 

“You’ve been fighting for weeks,” he continues, his voice not leaving any room for negotiating. “It’s stupid, it’s unnecessary, and most importantly: it’s gonna ruin the art show for Jack.”

They silently look at him. The three of them know - deep down - that he’s right. And they all hate fighting. They really do. But they are also too proud to admit that. 

Crutchie sighs. “Okay, how about this? All three of you apologize at the same time.” No one answers, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Great. One, two, three.”

More silence. The man with the bike looks at them, clearly trying to make it seem like he’s not listening to their conversation and failing miserably.

Crutchie groans and puts his headphones in again. “Fine, continue tearing this family apart, I don’t care.” 

The way he says it, completely serious without any hint of sarcasm, is what makes Mush’s throat close a bit. 

Romeo opens his mouth to say something at that, but nothing comes out. He sighs and rests the back of his head against the window of the train compartment. The blackness outside makes everything feel glum and dark. He wonders if Jack is proud of his paintings. He hopes he is. He also hopes he would be there right now, supporting his friend, instead of standing here without any way to get to Brooklyn. He checks his phone, but he doesn’t have any reception either. He ignores the digital numbers on the top of the screen that are reminding him of how much time has already passed waiting for the train to start moving.

“How is Specs?”

The question is so unexpected that Romeo almost jerks in surprise. He looks up hastily. Blink is looking at Mush. Mush is looking at Romeo. His gaze is unsure, and he is quickly chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Not great,” Romeo admits after the awkward silence gets too much. He looks up at the ceiling. 

“He still doesn’t…?”

Romeo shakes his head, not looking at either Mush or Blink. 

There is a beat of silence. Then Blink speaks up. “Well, I… Uh, I hope he feels better soon.”

It’s very far from an apology, but it still makes Romeo look down and meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he says slowly. His eyes are slightly narrowed, like he isn’t sure what kind of game they are both playing. “We’re, uh, trying to trigger his memories by watching historic documentaries and stuff.” 

Mush smiles thinly at this. “Finally, you get some actual use of your major, huh?”

If Romeo thinks he overstepped a line, he doesn’t show it. A small smile grows on his face at the comment, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Rude,” he points out, and a small laugh espaces Mush. 

The tension between them is still heavy when they go quiet. None of them are sure what to do, how to act, or what to say. Crutchie is trying not to look at them, but he gets more and more tempted as the minutes pass. He forces himself to look down at his phone instead and play scrabble. 

Blink is sweating. The close proximity to so many people, mixed with the stress of meeting Romeo, makes him practically leak. There had been a pinch of sorrow in his chest when Romeo had mentioned his and Specs’ work. Blink is brought back to the countless hours spent teasing Romeo about his love for history. Who could have known how much his major would help?

Mush carefully avoids meeting Romeo’s eyes, scared of his willpower disappearing and letting his heart rule instead. He wants to talk. He wants to apologize. He wants everything to go back to normal. But how are they supposed to do that, when they are all so goddamn proud?

At the same time, Romeo is biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something stupid. Like apologizing. He shouldn’t do that. Specs had agreed with him on the fact that the two of them hadn’t been in the wrong, and that they didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Romeo shifts a bit, unconsciously moving a little closer to Mush and Blink. Then again, he thinks with a slightly bitter sting, Specs isn’t here. And he doesn’t seem to want to be too involved in the issue, either. 

After actual minutes of standing in silence, waiting for someone to speak, Romeo opens his mouth. But before he gets a chance to say anything, both Blink and Mush both do the same. They stare at each other and share small, uncertain smiles.

“Uh, you go first,” Romeo says and gestures towards Blink, who suddenly looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

He bites his lip for a couple of seconds as he ponders on what to say. “I…” He clears his throat. “When you… When you told Specs, I got upset, because, uh… Well…” He glances at Mush with something close to panic in his eyes. 

Mush bites his lip and glances back at Romeo. The guy with the bike tries to look like he isn’t listening. “We felt as if you hadn’t thought about the risks, uh, involved…”

Blink’s jaw is working and he absentmindedly pulls at the string of his eyepatch. “...But I think that we… That I, may have… overreacted.” Another beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”

Romeo quickly closes his mouth that had been hanging agape. His throat feels tight as he nods. “I’m sorry, too. For telling Specs, when I knew you didn’t want me to.”

The guy with the bike tires to move out of their way. He might be a bit intimidated by the three college-age guys looking like they are on the verge of tears.  
Crutchie is smiling at them, having abandoned his phone five minutes ago. “Was that so hard?” he asks with a teasing smile. Blink hits him lightly on the back of his head, but he only laughs. 

“Still doesn’t make us get there faster,” Romeo reminds them, if only to change the subject. The three of them are still having a difficult time meeting each other’s eyes.

A sigh runs through the group when they realise that they are still, in fact, immobile. The cramped compartment suddenly feels even smaller than it did a minute ago.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait,” Mush says. He shrugs. “At least the others are there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to leave kudos and comments to let me know if you liked this chapter! 
> 
> Say hello to me on tumblr! @pizzas-will-rule-the-worl


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _None of them meant any harm._

The others are not there. 

None of them meant any harm. Maybe that’s the worst part. Because everything got messed up and they have no one to blame but themselves, while they at the same time want nothing more than to fix it.

Spot and Race are lying in bed, basking in the happiness only achieved after really good make-up sex. Spot has almost fallen asleep, his arm thrown over Race’s waist, Race’s back against his chest. Race is holding his hand, bringing it up to his lips every now and then to place soft kisses on his fingers. 

“So,” Race says, his voice barely above a whisper. Spot makes a soft noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh to show that he’s listening. “What does this mean, for us?”

Spot opens his eyes. After a couple of seconds with no answer, Race rolls over to face him. 

“Spot?”

“I’m thinking,” Spot says. He trails a light finger over Race’s nose, his high brow, down to his lips. It’s strangely intimate in a way Race isn’t used to. 

“You done thinking?” Race says with a small hint of teasing to mask the uncomfortable twisting in his stomach. He relaxes a bit when Spot’s lips quirk into a small smile. 

“I want us,” he says, like it’s the most obvious and simple thing in the world. “A relationship. If you can agree to that.”

Race matches his smile. Spot makes it sound like they are settling the rules to a game of cards. “I can agree to that, yeah.” He grabs Spot by the neck and gives him a firm kiss, making the other boy sigh contently. They break apart and lie down again, both breathing calmly.

And then suddenly, Spot jerks away from Race’s body and sits up. “Shit, the art show!”

It is the only thing needed to make the blood in Race’s veins turn to ice and him freezing in his spot for a second. Then he also jumps up from the bed, hastily looking around the room and grabbing his clothes as quickly as he can. 

By the time they are on their way to the subway, breaths in their throats and clothes disheveled and sweaty, they are so late it’s actually embarrassing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Race mutters as he glances up at the electric sign showing the departures of the train. “Fucking shitting mother of fuck.”

A woman grabs hold of her small son’s hand and drags him away from them. Race barely notices it. Spot is breathing heavily, his eyes also fixed on the sign. “The D-train, right?” he asks, as if he hasn’t gone this route a million times growing up. 

“Yeah,” Race says, spinning around on the spot, his whole body jittery with restless energy. 

Spot puts a hand on his arm, forcing him to stop and look at him. “You need to calm down for a second, okay? We won’t get there any faster because you are freaking out.”

“You are freaking out, too!” Race exclaims, and Spot doesn’t really have anything to say to that. Instead he kisses Race softly. 

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

Meanwhile, Finch is starting to feel a lot better after two glasses of water, half a glass of red wine and a big group hug, initiated by Elmer. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbles, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think you were... “

“Yeah,” Albert says with a clap on his shoulder. “I know.”

But it has taken them too long to explain themselves, to calm Finch down. By the time they can focus on anything else, the clock has moved way too fast and they scramble to get out of the bar as quickly as they can. 

“I’m coming with you, just let me tell my boss,” Finch says and downs the last contents of his wine glass. “Uh, where are we going?”

The others quickly explain the situation, while getting more and more stressed as the seconds pass. Smalls is basically jumping up and down in jittery strain by the time they are ready to go. She gestures to the front door, and the four of them all but run out to the busy streets of New York City. 

Katherine manages to calm herself down, but it takes her quite a while and she is still shaky when her phone rings. Before she answers she catches a glimpse of the digital watch on her screen and gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Hello?” she says. 

“Kath, are you at the gallery yet?” Davey asks her. He sounds stressed, and there is the sound of cars coming from his end of the phone. 

“No,” Katherine says and tries to keep her voice level. “I’m outside the school newspaper’s office.”

Davey curses, and Katherine can hear another voice on the other end say something. “No, Les, you’re not allowed to repeat that,” he says firmly. 

“You’re bringing Les?” Katherine asks, and Davey sighs. 

“And Sarah. It’s a long story, but I can’t really leave them. I just… uh, dropped some pretty heavy news on them and our parents are out of town, so…” 

“Wait, shit,” Katherine says and closes her eyes. “You are not there either? Where are you?”

“Not far away from you,” Davey says quickly, like this is the obvious answer. “Leaving Sarah's apartment now. I’ve called a cab, we'll be there in a few minutes.”

Mush, Blink, Romeo and Crutchie cheer with the rest of the compartment as the train finally starts to move. Luckily, only a couple of stations are left until they are there, but   
Crutchie’s heart is still racing. When they get off the train, Romeo lets out a surprised shout and actually jumps into the arms of his boyfriend who is standing on the platform. 

“Why aren’t you at the gallery?” Romeo asks after giving Specs a loud kiss on the cheek. 

“Well, you texted me what train you were on,” Specs says, waving with his phone. “I saw that there were delays, so I figured I would wait for you.”

“Not a good idea, in hindsight,” Blink mutters. “Now we’re all late. We don’t have time to wait any longer.” He claps Specs on the shoulder. If Specs is surprised by the sudden show of casual friendliness, he doesn’t say so. 

“Yeah,” Crutchie agrees. Even though he is the one on crutches, he is almost five feet ahead of them already, hurriedly making his way to the escalator. “We need to be there like, an hour ago, come on. Has anyone written anything in the groupchat?”

Specs types on his phone. "I have it on mute, let me-" he stops himself mid-sentence. His brow if furrowed deeply as he reads the recent messeges sent by Jack. "Okay," he mutters and hurries his steps to catch up with the others. "You're right Crutchie, we need to get there quickly."

It is one of those funny actions of faith that correlate all of their arrivals. The same moment as the cab with Davey, Katherine, Sarah, and Les pulls in to the curb and the four of them tumble out, Spot and Race are turning the corner and coming to a halt outside of the gallery doors. Their chests are heaving deeply and they are too winded to speak for a moment. A second later, loud voices can be heard from many different directions and two large groups hurry up to them, one from across the street and one from the other direction than the one Race and Spot came from. Crutchie, Blink, Mush, Romeo and Specs quiet down when they see the already pretty big group of people standing outside of the doors. The other group aren’t as quiet, mostly because Albert has spotted them and yells something while jumping up and down. They can’t make out what he says though, because of the sound of surrounding cars and white city noise. 

The whole group stops in front of the building, everyone looking at each other expectantly. 

“Why are you so late?” Albert asks the others. Race and Spot glance at each other.

“Uh,” Race says. “That’s… not important.”

The group breaks into questions and answers of why all of them are so late. Everybody is speaking over everybody, no one gets an actual chance to make their voice heard. 

“Wait, why are we so fucking many?” Race asks, counting heads. His gaze stops when he sees the three newcomers. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“I can explain,” David says, and puts a protective arm around Les. “He-”

“Oh my God, _Finch?_ ”

Finch grins at them. “Hey, you guys.”

Chaos ensues. 

They are all either yelling, getting yelled at, or both at the same time. Les is picked up by Albert and spun around and then placed on his shoulders. Finch is surrounded by his friends, getting hugs, claps on the shoulder and ruffled hair by everyone. Sarah is confused but pleased as all of these strangers hug her and ask her how she is. It’s a lot for everyone, and it takes a minute for the general pandemonium to die down enough for David to get an opportunity to say anything. 

“Okay, you guys, come on, _hey listen!_ ” They all quiet down. David gestures to the door. “Should we…?”

“Oh, yeah!”

One by one they file into the gallery and the first room, which is perfectly square with stands along the walls showcasing a bunch of small sculptures in different materials. The many colors contrast with the clinically white walls and the light wooden floor, making the overall impression almost too intense. None of them even have to glance at the signs under the artworks in order to know that Jack is not responsible for this part of the exhibit. 

“Is it just me,” Race asks the group. “Or is it a pretty bad turnout?”

His voice echoes off the walls. There is barely any other people in the first room of the gallery, only a lonely man sitting in a chair in the corner. It looks like he is asleep. A table with snacks and drinks is in the middle of the room, but when they look closer the bowls are empty except for crumbs, and the bottles have been drained. A sinking feeling is entering David’s chest, and he swallows. After a glance around the group, he can see that they are all looking as confused and unsettled as he is feeling. He tries to come up with anything to say that might make the others feel better. “We should try to find Jack, I guess.”

Some of them nod, others just start to walk through the first room. Music is playing from the speakers, but with so few people there it only feels eerie and uncomfortable. Sarah is holding onto Les’s hand tightly, and for once he doesn’t complain about her doting. Spot and Race walk closely next to each other, as do Mush and Blink. Finch is walking two steps behind the rest of the group with Specs beside him, as if none of them feel really a part of the group. No one says anything. The only sounds they make is the shuffling of shoes on the floor.

The next room is a bit smaller, and this one actually has paintings. Large canvases filled with colors blending together, portraying vivid landscapes with wild rivers, unforgiving mountains and deep chasms. David doesn’t even need to look at the sign next to the door to recognize Jack’s particular style. He walks up to the painting closest to him. He must crane his neck to be able to take it all in. The canvas must be taller than Jack himself. A sudden image of Jack standing on a stool, reaching and standing on his tippy toes in order to paint the top of the canvas flashes through David’s mind. It makes him smile. 

He remembers a lot of Jack’s paintings of landscapes. Mostly they had been made for Medda’s theatre, used as backdrops in her many shows. Looking at a whole series of art like this tugs at David’s chest slightly, bringing him back to 1899. He clearly remembers nights spent on the rooftop. Jack lying beside him, drawing with coal on the back of an old newspaper he had found. 

“Maybe you should get some proper paper,” David had suggested one night. “You know, to draw on.”

Jack had a cigar in his mouth, making his face brighter in the gloomy darkness. His eyes had been fixed on his pape, drawing short strokes with the black coal, making a shape which turned into a face. 

“Maybe I should,” Jack had agreed. Then he had glanced up at David with a smirk. “But who’s gonna pay for it, huh?” 

David tears his eyes away from the painting. A lump is forcing its way up in his throat, and he takes a deep breath to make it go away. It works a little bit. He is about to motion for the group to continue into the next room, when sharp steps can be heard approaching, making him hesitate.

Medda Larkin rounds a corner and enters from the third room. She is wearing a long dress for the occasion, and her heels click as she slows down in the entrance. She does a small double take as she notices them. 

Crutchie immediately takes a step forward and throws an arm around her. She pulls him close and pats his back in greeting. 

The rest of the group is staring at her in silence, no one sure what to say or in what way to greet her. Crutchie lets her go after a long while, still not saying anything. Her gaze is not angry, but at the same time slightly cold when she takes them all in. Spot, who is standing next to David, shifts slightly.

“Hello, Medda,” he says, and takes a hesitant step forward. Medda smiles and opens her arms for him. Spot embraces her and she sighs. 

“How are you, Sean?” she asks him when they let go, and Spot looks down at the floor and mumbles something indistinguishable. Medda must have heard him, though, because she pats him on the cheek with an understanding smile. 

“Sean?” Albert whispers, and Race hits the back of his head. 

“We’re looking for Jack,” Spot continues. “Can you tell him we’re here?”

Medda’s smile falls, and she glances at the large group again. “I’m sorry, kids, you just missed him.”

David stops breathing for a moment. Time seems to stop as he takes in these words. Jack? Gone?

“What do you mean?” Crutchie asks, taking a step forward. “Where did he go?”

Medda purses her lips slightly. “I’m not sure, honey. He said he needed to be alone.” She looks sad, David thinks, and that makes the whole situation about ten times worse. 

“We…” Race starts, but stops to breathe in deeply. “We didn’t mean to be late, Medda, it was a mistake.”

Medda nods. “But he doesn’t know that, does he?”

The group is quiet. The shame they all feel must be written on their faces, because Medda smiles slightly. “You can call him in the morning,” she reminds them. 

David nods numbly. They can. They can call Jack in the morning to make everything right.

One by one, they file out of the room and onto the street. Both Crutchie and Spot give Medda a last kiss before turning around and leaving, as well. Medda watches them go in silence. She looks at their retreating figures, and she can’t help but pity her children, who she truly believes only ever try to do their best. She hopes with all of her heart that they know how to fix this, that they can all go back to being the family they once had been.

After taking one last glance around the walls at the paintings, she sighs and turns around, leaving the room as well.

It’s freezing by the time they get outside. The city lights have flickered on around them, making the dark night a little less gloomy. Snow starts to fall, turning the usually busy city quiet and slow. It’s creating a blanket on the hard concrete. They all stop on the sidewalk, standing in a half circle without knowing what to do. 

Race already has his phone out. He presses it to his ear, face anxious as he waits. Spot is watching him silently. Katherine is quietly conversing with Davey. 

“-might be, we don’t know.”

Davey shrugs. “We can always check, right? Shouldn’t it be the first place he goes to?”

Katherine ponders for a moment, then shakes her head slightly. “Not if he’s… well, avoiding us.” She swallows. “His own apartment is the first place we’d check.”

Specs shuffles a bit. “Should we really look for him? I mean… He obviously wants to be left alone.”

The others give him slightly indignant looks. Katherine and Davey glance at each other, speaking in raised eyebrows and meaningful glances. 

“Specs, babe,” Romeo says. “Jack is a bit, uh…” He hesitates for a second. “Well, you know Jack. Sometimes when he’s upset he can get a bit overwhelmed.” 

The others nod. Specs doesn’t remember it, of course, but it’s all too clear in the others’ minds. Getting attacked by the Delancey brothers and Wiesel, and then the Bulls coming to finish them off. And Jack leaving, off somewhere else doing something else, leaving the problems to the others. 

“He runs away,” Spot says with a grim face. “We just want to make sure he’s safe and not passed out in an alleyway in Queens, or something.”

Race lets out a frustrated sigh when he gets to Jack’s voicemail. “Hey, Jack, it’s me. Call me back, please? We…” he glances at the group. “We are all hoping you’re okay.” He puts his phone back into his pocket and makes an exasperated gesture. “What now?”

“We can go around and look for him,” Blink suggests. 

“What, and stay out all night?” Spot answers gruffly. “It’s New York City, it will take days.”

“So, we split up,” Smalls says and claps her hands together like it has been decided. 

“No way,” Mush objects. “We will lose track of each other.” He glances around the group, his arms wrapped around his body. “I don’t know about you guys, but I would rather we don’t lose anyone else.”

“Well, what else do you suggest we do?” Romeo asks with raised eyebrows. 

Mush makes a face and sighs. “I don’t know.”

They go quiet for a moment. A cab flies past them, and then a motorcycle. The roaring of their engines makes David jump. He thinks of Jack, out in the city alone, believing none of them cared enough to show up to the thing he had worked to hard for. Then he thinks of what they can do right now. A glance around the group makes him certain.

“Okay,” he says, surprising himself with how authoritative he sounds. “Crutchie, can we crash at your place tonight?” 

Crutchie nods. “Of course.”

“Great,” David says. “We have called him, we have tried to reach out. He needs some time to calm down, and we will be waiting for him when he comes home. Let’s go, we all need the rest.” 

The group looks absolutely famished. It’s probably the stress from whatever reason they had to be so late, plus the recent shock they all went through. They all mumble in agreement.

They go back to the apartment as a collective group. It’s a saturday night, so many people are out, on their way to bars, clubs or parties. David walks beside Albert, who is carrying Les on his back again. Les has his eyes closed, head resting on Albert’s back, arms dangling limply over Albert’s shoulders. He is getting too old to be carried around. David knows that. But it has been a long day, and a small part of him just wants Les to be protected, especially after the unpleasant journey of getting your memories back. He knows it’s both draining and scary. So he just walks beside Albert, hoping that Les will sleep through the whole night. 

The apartment is empty when they get there. Katherine gives David a pointed look, like she wants to say “I told you so.” David ignores her, and instead turns to Crutchie to talk about making something to eat for all of them. Sarah helps Albert put Les down to sleep in Crutchie’s bed, and then she stays there next to him as Albert, Race and Spot spend a few minutes pulling out as many blankets, pillows and mattresses as they can find. The whole living room floor is soon covered in soft materials. Albert throws himself down on an air mattress with a deep sigh. Smalls curls up on the sofa, and Elmer immediately joins her and pulls a blanket over the two of them. Finch sits down in an armchair beside where Albert is lying. He looks around the room in slight disbelief, as if the whole situation is still a bit unreal to him. Romeo and Specs are quietly conversing in the hallway. 

When David walks into the kitchen, Mush is going through the freezer, fridge and cabinets to find anything to feed a dozen or so people. Katherine is sitting in a chair with an untouched glass of water in front of her. Blink is heating a large pot on the stove. If it is for food or drinks, David isn’t sure. Crutchie is leaning with one hand against the countertop, his eyes pressed tight together. 

“Crutch?” David asks and lightly touches his shoulder. Crutchie jumps a bit, and quickly resumes his task of boiling water for tea and coffee. 

The others look at them without saying anything. The only thing that can be heard is an insistent ticking from the clock on the wall, and the soft voices coming from the living room. 

“I’m fine, just fine,” Crutchie says, but his hand is shaking when he measures out the coffee. 

David stops him when he’s about to pour the boiling water. “Let me do it,” he says. “Sit down.”

Crutchie does. Katherine pulls off the scarf she is wearing and drapes it across Crutchie’s shoulders. 

David slowly pours the water over the coffee filter and silently counts the seconds it takes for it to disappear again. Then he pours a bit more, and waits again. When the pot is filled, he pulls out teabags. Blink has gotten hold of a large tray on which David places the coffee pot, together with all the mugs he can find. It’s methodic work that doesn’t require speech, which is why it is almost a surprise when Crutchie does speak up. 

“It’s my fault, ain’t it?”

David can’t bring himself to look at him, but he can sense Blink turning around.

“Why would it be?” Katherine asks softly. David closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He can feel bile in his throat, but he forces it down. 

“Because I’ve been ignoring him,” Crutchie says. “I mean, I judged y’all for doing it to me, but I didn’t even realize I was doing it myself.”

“We all did,” Mush says. “It was easier, we didn’t want him to suspect…” His voice dies down. 

David forces himself to open his eyes. He ignores the slight shakiness in his hands as he takes the tray and leaves the kitchen.

The others smile gratefully at him and at the warm drinks. They pour tea and coffee and find their spots in the room. It’s big enough floor space for them all to fit comfortably without even touching, but none of them want to stay further apart than necessary. 

After about an hour of mindless waiting, Race goes into Jack’s room to get a deck of cards, just so he’ll have something to occupy himself with. The room is dark and the air is a bit stale after a whole day with a closed door. He ignores the pictures put up over the bed in favor of going up to the desk. A thin beam of light from the moon is coming in from the window and makes the surface visible to him. He finds a deck of cards, and also a bunch of charcoal sketches. He flips through them carefully. One by one, they unfold and show faces he recognizes. Their faces. Laughing, smiling, studying, reading, talking. There must be dozens of them. When did Jack have time to draw them all? The heaviness in his chests intensifies and he swallows down the lump forming in his throat.

A soft knock on the door makes him jump. Spot holds his hands up in surrender. “Can I come in?” he asks, and Race nods. 

“How are you doing?” he asks. 

Spot purses his lips and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mutters. 

“Too bad, dipshit,” Race says and lightly punches his chest. “We’re gonna talk about it. It’s a part of the whole relationship-thing.”

Spot rolls his eyes, but there is a hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t know,” he says and sighs. “I don’t know what I feel. I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Race nods and squeezes his hand. “That’s understandable. It’s okay to just… be worried about him. You don’t have to feel anything else.”

Spot looks at him. “Yeah? I guess I am. Worried.”

Race smiles, but it feels slightly stiff. He glances out of the half closed door. Some of their friends can be seen in the living room.They look famished, sad, and angry all at the same time. 

“You’s okay?” Spot asks softly.

Race shakes his head. He is too tired to lie. “The worst thing,” he mumbles, still not looking at Spot. “Is that I’m actually a bit angry at him. For leaving. For not telling us where he is. And I feel like an asshole for being angry, because obviously he is feeling shitty and...” His voice dies down in his throat.

Spot is quiet for a moment. “It ain’t like last time,” he says.

Race glances at him. Of course Spot knows exactly what Race is talking about. After all, if Race remembers so much about their conversations and meetings in 1899, so must Spot.   
The hazy aftermath of stress and shock makes Race’s memories appear muddled and confusing, but he remembers leaning against Spot, head on his shoulder. His face had been bruised, his clothes dirty, his bones aching. 

“We lost,” he had said, embarrassingly close to tears. “Them bulls got Crutchie. And Jack’s gone.”

Spot had pushed Race away from him, had held him at an arm’s reach and stared him straight in the eye. “Then you needs to go. Be there for them.”

Race had shaken his head, still clinging to Spot in slight desperation. “I can’t, I don’t-”

“Look at them, Race! They’s scared outta their minds.”

“So am I!” 

“I don’t care.” Spot’s voice hadn’t been angry - not even loud - only stern and level. “You don’t like it? Tough luck. Those kids need you.”

Even though he hadn’t wanted to, Race had agreed in the end, and Spot had left with the promise that at the next event, they could count on Brooklyn to be there. 

Now, Spot doesn’t leave. Instead he tugs Race closer, holding him tight against his chest. 

Race manages to get Albert, Spot, Finch and Mush to join him in a game, but he notices pretty early on that no one has their heart in it. 

Elmer has drifted off to sleep, Smalls curled up next to them. She is speaking to Katherine with a frown on her face. 

“Can he do that, though?” she asks. 

Katherine shrugs, an uncharacteristically helpless air around her. “He is the editor, isn’t he? He has the final say.” She sighs and throws her head back in frustration. She is holding a mug with tea, even though it must have gone cold by now. “I just feel so… “ She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do. I feel humiliated.”

Smalls purses her lips. “We’ll come up with something, I promise.”

Specs and Romeo are cuddling on a mattress, covered in so many blankets that no one can really see them. After a little while Sarah comes out from Crutchie’s room, her hair a mess and her eyes bleary with sleep. She glances around the room as she sits down next to David. 

“I didn’t know it was the same Jack,” she mumbles, her eyes fixed on a corner of the room. David doesn’t really know what she is talking about, but doesn’t have the energy to ask, either. 

One by one, they all fall asleep. Sarah’s head is resting on Davey’s shoulder. Race has curled up against Spot, their joint heartbeats the only thing making them calm enough to relax. Katherine has her arms wrapped around herself. Something is making her anxious in her sleep, bringing her bad dreams that make her toss and turn fitfully on the mattress.

Crutchie got the space left on the couch after Smalls and Elmer scooch over a bit. He could probably have gone back to his own bed, but he doesn’t want to risk waking Les up. He is not able to fall asleep for another couple of hours. He can see Mush’s digital watch blink at him from across the room, almost tauntingly. The minutes tick by at and endlessly slow pace, and every time that the numbers signal another moment passing, the anxiety grows in his chest. It takes until about two a.m. until he finally falls into a restless sleep. He dreams of dark shadows, weirdly elongated figures following him and then being surrounded by stars, staring up at a moon that is much bigger than the one in New York.   
His sleep is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door rattling. 

He jerks, awoken from his very light slumber. The room is still quiet. There is no sign of anybody else awake. He listens again, and he can now clearly hear a handle being pulled down, and a body moving into the apartment. 

As quietly as he can, he grabs his crutches from the floor beside the sofa and stands up. He slowly makes his way through the room, careful not to step on the sleeping figures of Mush and Blink on the floor. 

When he glances around the corner to the hallway, his heart skips a beat. 

“Jack?” he whispers, his shock and disbelief evident in his tone of voice. Jack hastily looks up. Crutchie stops in his tracks when he does. “Where have you been?” he says softly. “You look like hell.” 

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Thanks,” he mutters and shifts uncomfortably under Crutchie’s stare. His face is pale and sunken, like when you are sick or very tired. He doesn’t meet Crutchie’s gaze, but it’s clear that he has been crying recently. 

Something tightens in Crutchie’s stomach. “Jack -” he starts, but his voice dies down when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say. Every excuse seems feeble and - not to mention - like a lie. How is he supposed to explain to Jack why they all missed his most important night, when he can’t even be honest about half of the reasons?

He swallows. His throat is hurting. “You didn’t answer our calls, or texts.”

Jack doesn’t move. 

What is the protocol here? What is Crutchie supposed to do, supposed to say?

“We were worried,” he adds, but he can feel how empty the words sound. Jack glances up, and Crutchie almost shies back when he sees the sudden flash of anger in his eyes. 

“I ain’t here to listen to your sob story,” he says and goes to move past Crutchie. Crutchie steps in his way as quickly as he can. Jack stops in front of him. 

“Will you listen to apologies?” Crutchie asks. With a cold look, Jack makes it clear he’s not interested in that, either. “Why are you here, then?”

Without saying anything, Jack quietly works his jaw. The silence stretches out for too long. “I’m here to get some stuff,” he says finally. His voice is gruff. Crutchie stares. 

“Why? What stuff?”

Jack looks behind Crutchie, avoiding his gaze once again. “Clothes, and stuff like that.”

A dry feeling starts to spread through Crutchie’s mouth as he slowly puts two and two together. He is glad he has his crutches, because even without his bum leg he would have had trouble standing up right now. 

“You’re leaving,” he says. It’s not a question, only a mere statement of the facts presented to him. 

Jack nods. 

“Santa fe,” he says, voice quiet and horribly neutral. “I got the acceptance letter yesterday.”

Oh. Wow. 

It’s a blow to the stomach, leaving Crutchie unable to breathe properly. He can only stare at Jack. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jack swallows. “I was gonna. At the art show. But…” He shrugs. “I mean, I wasn’t sure I was going until… until tonight.”

“You’re leaving,” Crutchie says, feeling a bit sluggish from the shock. 

Jack nods. “I am.” He pushes Crutchie aside with a little more force than necessary. “So, uh, I need to-”

He stops when he comes out into the living room and finds it blocked by a dozen of his friends. He spins around at Crutchie. “What the fuck?” he whisper-yells. “What are they doing here?”

Crutchie scoffs, but keeps his voice down as well. “Worrying about you, Jack. None of us knew where you were, if you were even alive!”

Jack stares at Crutchie for a moment, then turns around and walks close to the wall to not wake anyone up. Crutchie is left behind, staring after him as he goes into his room. It takes only a couple of minutes before Jack is back, now carrying a backpack on his shoulder. 

“Where are you staying?” Crutchie asks him, avoiding talking about how he’s actually feeling, ignoring the tears that are burning in his throat. Jack doesn’t stop to look at him when he grabs his jacket. 

“You really don’t have to act like you give a fuck,” Jack says, voice harsh and cool. 

Crutchie feels so incredibly small. 

“Jack-” But Jack spins around.

“I don’t want to hear it!” he says, and jabs a finger in Crutchie’s chest. There is more force behind it than he intended, and Crutchie sways dangerously before getting his footing back again. His heart is beating hard. Jack stops in his tracks, staring at Crutchie with a shocked and a slightly guilty face. 

“I didn’t-” Jack starts, but stops himself. He shakes his head.

There is shuffling behind him. He must finally have gotten too loud for the others to sleep through. Crutchie glances back and sees Katherine, along with Race, stand in the door opening.

“Jack?” she asks. Barely noticeable behind them is Mush and Blink, sleepy and confused. They are both still half-lying on the floor, watching the scene play out in front of them. 

“Are you okay, Crutchie?” Race asks, taking a step forward and placing a hand on Crutchie’s shoulder. 

He nods. “Yeah, it was nothing.”

Jack is quiet. Race turns on him and gives him a onceover. “Finally decided to show up?”

It’s not the best comment to go with for this conversation, but Race has never been known for his good ideas. 

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think you’re one to talk about not showing up,” he says with a snarl. Crutchie can hear voices come from the living room, and the sound of hurried steps as people wake up. 

Jack stares at Race for a moment. Race stares back. It takes a while before he finally has the decency to look down. “I know,” he says, voice suddenly quiet and tired. “I’m sorry, Jack, I…” But Jack stops him with another shake of his head. 

“I don’t care,” he says, and glances at the other newsies who have gathered in the opening to the living room. “You all can carry on without me, as you’ve been doing so well the last months.”

Katherine’s voice is shaking. “Please, Jack -”

Jack grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulder with much more force than necessary. “I’m done with all of you lying to me,” he says, tone of voice perfectly simple and clear.  
Blink glances at Mush with slight panic in his eyes. Romeo takes a step forward, as if to stop Jack even though he’s blocked by about seven other people. Katherine’s tears finally spill over, and she can feel a warm hand on her arm. When she glances up, Sarah is standing beside her with Davey at her side. Davey is as pale as a ghost, and even though he takes Katherine’s hand, his gaze is closely fixed on Jack. 

Jack turns to leave, has his hand on the door handle, when Crutchie speaks up again. 

“You can’t leave,” he exclaims, voice trembling. “You promised.”

His voice is desperate, and he is sure that if he could, he would run up to Jack and hold him back with all force necessary. 

Jack glances back. A small hint of confusion flashes over his face before it goes back to the cloudy look it had before. “What are you talking about?” he asks, voice sharp as glass. 

Crutchie’s eyes are glossy. “You promised,” he repeats. “That we would always be a family.”

There is a beat. 

And then another. 

The whole room, the whole apartment, is quiet. Davey’s breaths are shaky. Jack is looking perplexed as he stares at Crutchie in silence. Everyone is waiting for something to happen. Race’s hand is still gripping his shoulder tightly, and Crutchie thinks that it might be the only thing keeping his friend upright at the moment. 

Jack shifts a bit. He looks unsure, as if he’s trying to understand a problem right in front of him. He has the tools, but unable to understand how he’s supposed to use them. He is working his jaw, glancing around the room at every face. 

There is another moment of silent anticipation. 

Jack’s eyes widen the tiniest bit. His face pales. 

Crutchie releases a breath and suddenly feels like he can breath properly for the first time in hours. 

Katherine swallows. 

Blink whispers behind her. “Holy shit.”

At this, David involuntarily lets out a tiny sound from the back of his throat. It’s something between a sigh and a gasp, and it makes Jack turn his gaze on him. David feels the ground shift beneath his feet when he sees a hint of recognition in his perplexed gaze.

“Jack?” Race asks, voice barely above a whisper. Not that it matters. The whole apartment is so quiet that you could hear a pin fall on the floor. 

Jack’s gaze flickers from David to Race, then quickly scans the rest of the room only to end back on David. There is a slight tremor in his hand, which is still on the door handle.   
Katherine lets go of David’s hand, and instead puts it on his back. He falls forward by the slight push. As soon as he moves, Jack’s eyes widen and he jerks, like he was just awoken by someone throwing water in his face. He drops his jacket on the floor. Now his gaze is filled with panic, instead. Before anyone has the chance to react he opens the door and throws himself out, dashing down the stairwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. So.
> 
> Please leave comments letting me know what you think of this chapter! We're nearing the end. **What do you think will happen?**
> 
> _If you have a question about me or this fic, or if you wanna yell at me, don't hesitate to send a message or an ask on tumblr! @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world_


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack doesn’t stop running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away by all the comments I've gotten on the latest chapter. You guys. Shit. 
> 
> I know this chapter took a while, but I hope it's worth the wait!

Jack doesn’t stop running. 

His lungs are aching. His feet painfully thump on the ground every leap he takes. The cold wind rushes by, making his cheeks sting. He thinks he might be crying, but doesn’t have the mental energy to check.

Memories flash by at ultraspeed. Running down the same streets as he is now, but with different buildings surrounding him. The sound of merchants yelling and wheels turning on cobblestone-clad streets. A sky that actually shows stars, overwhelmingly large as it spreads out over the houses. Laying on a rooftop, staring up into the abyss with a strange feeling in his chest; the feeling of wanting to leave but also wanting to stay. Boys and girls surrounding him, hugging him. Cheering. Waving banners and signs. Small kids, handing out papes with the headline _The Newsies Banner._

He can’t breathe. 

Yells of laughter and glee mix in his mind with ones of pain and fear. The memories flood through his consciousness, faster than he can acknowledge them. The Delancey brothers are chasing him, but he’s not afraid. Medda is hugging him. A large sign delivering the news of an unjust raise in price. Crutchie is dragged away, yelling for someone to help him. Katherine is kissing him, telling him that she will always stay by his side. Roosevelt is shaking his hand with a kind smile. Pulitzer is sneering at him from behind a large wooden desk. Davey is grinning at him, bumping their shoulders together and asking him what’s it gonna be, is he in our out?

He might have been running for hours, or only seconds. It’s impossible for him to tell. The only thing he knows is that his legs are hurting and he can’t bring himself to move any more. He comes to a stop at a corner, and looks around. In his current state he can’t locate where he is, his brain muddling together the streets from now and from 1899, making him see everything double. The street lights blur and shift in and out of focus in front of his eyes. Without any sort of warning he doubles over and throws up on the sidewalk, his whole body shaking violently. A young woman stops on her way past, and puts a hand on his back. He thinks she asks him something, but he can’t tell what. He manages to give her a thumbs up and wave at her to leave, which she reluctantly does after a few seconds. 

He leans his full weight on the building next to him. The cold surface chills his warm body, the stark difference in temperature almost stinging him. When he touches his forehead he can feel sweat. 

A wind goes right through his flannel. He didn’t realize he dropped his jacket somewhere between this place and the apartment until now.

The apartment. 

Standing in front of all of his friends, some of them who he, until today, didn’t even know were his friends. Crutchie’s sad look, Race’s pale face. Davey, staring at him with something almost like fear in his gaze. 

Jack closes his eyes. 

Davey. 

He can feel another wave of nausea run over him, but he takes deep breath after deep breath until it passes. 

The worst thing, he thinks, is everything is starting to make sense. The lies over the past months, why all of his friends - one by one - had started to ignore him. 

A small burning in his stomach grows as the seconds tick by. Months. They have known for _months,_ they have remembered their other life. A life that Jack was a part of. Hell, he was their leader. 

How could they have kept this from him?

The only thing that this doesn’t explain is tonight. Why they all still missed the art show. But, he thinks and wishes he had some water to rinse his mouth with, it might just be one more thing thing they didn’t care enough about to bother with.

His exhausted body gives away and he slides down on the ground. His knees hit the sidewalk, but he barely registers the pain as he rests his back against the wall of a building. 

*

When Jack leaves the apartment, there is a stunned silence that lasts for about a second. It’s a second too long. Crutchie moves to follow him, but is too slow. When he arrives out to the staircase, hears the entryway close. Race and Spot are already dressed in jackets and shoes when he glances back inside, and Blink, Smalls, and Albert are not far behind. 

“We’ll find him,” Spot promises, but his face is grim and doesn’t match his optimistic words. 

They are gone before anyone gets a chance to say anything else. Katherine has pulled up her phone and is calling someone. Crutchie can see her throat wobble slightly when she shakes her head. “Voicemail.”

Les makes his way to them from the living room, parting people to make way. “What’s happening?” he asks, looking around at everybody gathered. The others glance at each other, none of them sure what to say. Davey grabs Les by the shoulders and presses him tightly to his chest, making sure he stays right there.

What follows is the longest night in all of their lifetimes. They split up, deciding that the more people are out looking, the bigger chance of finding Jack they got. Not even Mush objects to this, he only nods. Jack being alone in New York City is one thing, but him being out alone, scared, freaking out, and remembering his past life from the 19th century? 

No one questions the urgency.

Les begs to join them in their search. Everyone disagrees, including his two older siblings who, of course, have the last say. So Les stays behind, and Sarah does as well to make sure he’s all right. 

“I…” She shakes her head. “I will look after him, instead. It’s better that way.” David doesn’t argue, simply nods and hugs both of them tightly before leaving with Katherine by his side. 

It’s cold. They are walking down the street with determined steps. Their mission may be impossible, but they can’t just sit and do nothing either. 

David replays the scene over and over again in his head with horrible feelings of guilt mixed with fear. Jack’s blank stare that turned to something with a hint of recognition, and then into one of growing panic. The sharp slam of the door as he ran out. David’s own numb shock afterwards. Katherine’s hand in his, squeezing like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. 

David glances at her. Her face is partially hidden in the dark, but every once in a while they pass under a street light and he gets a clear view of her. She has stopped crying. David is silently relieved at this. He himself feels like breaking down, and he doesn’t think they could handle this search if both of them are so unstable. 

Katherine glances up at him and gives him a tight smile when she sees that he is looking at her. He returns it without any heart. 

“We will find him,” she says, and David wonders who she is trying to convince. 

“Yeah,” he says and grabs her hand again. It’s a welcomed weight in his hand, something to ground him and slow down his growing anxiety as they keep walking down the dark streets.

They manage to get a few blocks down without saying anything to each other, both too caught up with searching, and screaming Jack’s name as they do. Every now and then they pass people who David for a brief second believes to be Jack, but then it turns out to be another person with a slight grin or the same shade of hair. 

“Why do you think he ran?”

Katherine’s question is unexpected up until the moment it is spoken, in which it makes David realize he has been wondering the exact same thing ever since he heard the slam of the front door. It takes a few seconds before he can gather himself enough to answer. “I wish I knew.” There is a dull pain behind his eyes, making his thoughts sluggish and messy.

“Maybe he wasn’t ready to remember just yet.” When David’s only answer is a perplexed glance she continues. “Look, we have no idea why we remember these things, or what triggers it. Right?”

“Right.”

“...Is it so strange to think that maybe there are… I don’t know, good ways to remember and bad ways?”

“What do you mean?”

She brushes aside a strand of hair that is covering her face. “Like, both you and I remembered without anything specifically triggering us, meaning there wasn’t anything external that made our memories resurface, that we know of at least. Instead, there was something inside of us that decided we were ready for it.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment until David manages to make sense of them. “Are you saying he wasn’t actually ready to remember, but we… Made him? Forced him?” His headache is getting worse, and is is now accompanied by a small wave of nausea. The thought of being the reason why Jack is out there, possibly terrified and all alone... He swallows and subconsciously shakes his head. “But he wasn’t the only one who remembered by being triggered.” He holds on to that thought like it’s a lifeline, the only thing stopping him from drowning in guilt. He raises a shaky hand and starts counting on his fingers. “Race, Al, Romeo… Even Crutchie. Does that mean none of them were ready?”

Katherine shrugs. “I’m not saying I’m right, it’s just a hypothesis, nothing I’ve actually researched.”

Her words manage to calm him down a little bit, though there is still a heavy weight in his stomach. “And besides, what would it matter if they were ready or not? How could that even make a difference?”

Katherine is looking as him. “Davey, I’m not saying-”

“And where does Specs come in to this?” he continues without stopping to let her finish. His heart is beating hard now, and he feels how his voice sounding more and more desperate for every word spoken. “What would that even mean, for him? That they still don’t have a clue how he can get his memories back? Does that mean he isn’t ready to remember, but hasn’t found the right trigger? Will he ever do that, then? What does-”

“David!”

He closes his mouth. His chest is heaving. They must have slowed down and at last completely stopped walking, but he can’t seem to remember when that was. Katherine’s hand is on his arm, and she is staring intently into his eyes. David breaths are coming out in ragged puffs that sound remarkably like sobs. “I…” He shakes his head and then takes a deep breath. “I just wish I _understood._ ”

The hand on his arm is warm and constant. Katherine’s voice is soothing. “I get that. I do. But right now, we _don’t_ understand. And I can’t promise you we ever will. The only thing we can do is carry on, and focus on one problem at a time. Like right now, with Jack.” David nods and she is quiet for a second, inspecting his face. “Have you taken your meds?”

He tries to remember. “I don’t know. I think so.” 

“You seem more anxious than usual.” 

He laughs but it sounds sharp and sarcastic. “I wonder why that is,” he says and rolls his eyes. He wonders if his fatigue is a result of lack of sleep or the tense situation. At least his breathing is slowly evening out, and he can feel his heart rate dropping somewhat as the seconds pass.

Katherine nods and rubs his arm. “Okay, well... Listen to me, I was just theorising. The truth is that is it just one possibility out of… I don’t even know how many. It is just as likely that Jack just got freaked out and ran.”

David nods, because it makes sense. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

“And at the end of the day, it doesn’t even matter why he ran. He did, and he is still missing, and we still need to find him.”

He lets out a noise somewhere between a scoff and an laugh. “True, how could I have forgotten that small detail?” he mutters and takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he mumbles and swallows. He glances around and scans the other side of the street. “We should continue.”

Katherine gives him a look like she might protest, but after a couple of seconds she nods and they starts walking again. The cool air makes the sweat on David’s forehead dry quickly. It takes a few minutes until he can take in his surroundings clearly, his thoughts still a jumbled mess. They cross a street that he doesn’t recognize, and for a second he can’t tell if it’s because he has simply never been in this neighborhood or if it’s his 19th century mind playing tricks on him. “Where are we?” 

Katherine glances at a street sign and then down on her phone. “Near the Brooklyn Bridge,” she says and shifts her body so that a group of teenagers can pass on the sidewalk. “If you continue down that street you’ll get to Spot’s place.”

David glances down the street she gestured towards. “Any possibility he would go there? Spot is his foster brother, after all.”

“Barely foster brother,” Katherine injects. “And besides, Spot would have already gone there if he thought that was a possibility. Or Jack would have called him to let him in, I doubt he has a key.” She sighs and glances up at the dark sky. “To be honest with you, I think it’s more likely he is outside somewhere. A public place of some kind.”

David sighs. “This would be so much easier if we were in 1899.”

“Why?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know, the city was smaller, wasn’t it? And we always knew Jack’s favorite spots.”

She nods with a small smile. “The lodging house, the rooftop of the lodging house,” she says, counting on her fingers. “Medda’s theatre.” 

Medda’s house, just outside of the city, would have been the most obvious place to look for Jack. But they have already called her, before even leaving the apartment, and while she hadn’t been able to tell them where Jack was she promised that she would call them if he showed up. She had also told them to be careful, and that if Jack hadn’t been found by morning she would call the police no matter their objections.

“Yeah,” David says, thinking about Katherine’s list and getting lost in something resembling nostalgia. “Not to mention that it was harder to get places quickly, right?” He shrugs. “I mean, today he could have gone on the subway, or taken a cab, and we would have no idea.” That thought sits uncomfortably in his stomach. He hates the idea of them wasting their time walking around if Jack has simply taken the subway or a cab somewhere. It would make him nearly impossible to find, and mean that they would be walking around for nothing when they could be coming up with other ways to find him.

Katherine nods and sighs. “Yeah, that’s true. I mean, for all we know, he could be at the airport, or the -”

Then she stops. David continues for a second, until he notices she is not walking beside him any longer. He glances back. 

“Katherine?” he asks. 

She has obviously come up with something. Her mouth is still slightly open, her sentence hanging unsaid in the air. She is standing, frozen in her place, staring straight ahead with a look that is glazed over. David places a hand on her shoulder. 

“What is it?” he asks, seriously. Katherine looks at him, eyes wide.

“The train station,” she says, almost as if she’s scared of the words. 

David stares at her for half a second before his mind connects the dots. He can feel his heart plummet in his chest. 

Jack Kelly, the cowboy, whose biggest dream had been, had always been, to leave New York. Goodbye, dirty streets and hawking headlines. Hello, beautiful landscapes and fresh air. David thinks about the paintings he saw only a few hours ago, and feels stupid for not realizing it earlier. 

His gaze meets Katherine. She looks scared, and it makes his heart rate double.

“He’s going to Santa fe.” 

They are both on their phones faster than the speed of light. Katherine is searching for every train station in the New York City area, trying to find one with trains heading west.   
“Yes, I know,” she says on the phone and drags a hand through her hair. “I understand that it is a very strange request, but can you see if you can find anything?” She bites her lip for a second, and then her tense facial expression shifts into something akin to indignation. “ _Of course_ I know how to use google, what are you even- oh, I’m sorry, yes. Could you still check if…? Yes, exactly. In the direction of Santa Fe. Thank you.” She hides a frustrated groan. “Yes, I can hold.”

While Katherine is waiting to get information, David is trying to get ahold of everyone. 

“Albert says he knows a guy working at Grand Central,” Race says over the phone. “We are heading there right now. Want me to call Elmer and Smalls for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” David says with a sense of relief that feels strange in this situation. “We’ll meet you there.”

A voice in the background says something indistinguishable, and then Race is back. “Okay, sounds good. Bye.”

They hang up and David dials Mush’s number instead. 

“We think he might be going to a train station,” he says after he picks up. “Meet us at Grand Central as soon as you can. Call Finch and Crutchie, as well, make sure they get there.” 

And so they pass the time as they rush to the subway and on a train. David’s leg is bouncing up and down as they sit down. Katherine glares at him but doesn’t mention it. She is still on the phone, getting more and more frustrated by the second. “Yes, I understand that. Are you sure? Quite sure?” She nods to herself. “All right, then, goodnight.” She hangs up. “We’re on the right track, at least. There are only a couple of trains he might be taking, and they are all leaving from Grand.”

“What time are they leaving?”

Katherine doesn’t answer. 

“Katherine,” David says and nudges her. “When are they departing?”

She glances at him and then turns her gaze forward again. “Let’s just say we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

David closes his eyes, but nods and swallows tightly. “Wow, that’s-that’s great, yeah,” he shakes his head hastily. “Have you called him?”

Katherine sighs. “I mean, no. I don’t think he’s gonna pick up.” After seeing the look on David’s face, she backtracks. “But of course I’ll try.”

She dials Jack’s number. There are a few tense seconds. David bites his tongue to not scream in frustration when her face falls and she shakes her head. 

He leans back and closes his eyes, trying to breathe evenly even though it gets harder and harder every second. The train stops and the doors open to let people off and on. One station closer.

They can’t arrive there soon enough.

*

Jack is hurrying through the station. 

Given the late - or early, depending on how you look at it - hour, there are not too many people in his way. Jack is relieved at this - he isn’t even sure how he managed to get to the station in the first place, and he knows he would only get more stressed and freaked out if he was crowded. 

His backpack rests heavily on his shoulders. It only contains a few changes of clothes and his most basic art supplies, but he knows Medda can send him the rest of his things when he gets to Santa Fe. 

Medda. His mother. He would lie if he says he doesn’t want to call her right now. But he knows he can’t do that, he can’t call anyone until he is on his way. They would only stop him, and even if they wouldn’t he really can’t face the idea of seeing any of them right now. He has put his phone on silent, refusing to look at it or to even touch it. It suddenly feels foreign in his hand, too cold and heavy. The facts that his friends keep calling him only furthers the stress he’s already feeling.

He sees a ticket machine and walks up to it. His hands shake slightly when he chooses what train he wants to buy a ticket for. As it processes, he glances over his shoulder. He can’t shake the feeling that someone is going to come after him. A small wave of relief crashes over him when he gets his ticket and he can start walking again.

He stops one more time when he arrives in front of a timetable. He glances up at the departures, and takes careful note of where he’s supposed to go. Everything is done on instinct. His body moves, but his brain is somewhere else entirely. It’s like he’s going on auto-pilot. 

It is only when he is walking past an information desk that he gets taken aback and stops in his tracks. He hears a voice he recognizes, and it makes his whole body freeze.   
“-you listen here, dipshit, I don’t care what time it is. We need to find out if our friend is on that train.”

Jack quickly walks past, and hides behind a pillar. As he suspected, it’s Race who stands in front of the desk, trying to tower over the man behind the computer, who looks like he just wants to go home. Albert and Spot are standing behind Race. Spot’s hand is on Race’s shoulder, as if he is holding him back. 

The man at the counter looks unimpressed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says and taps on the computer. “I can’t release that sort of information.” 

Race looks like he is about yell some more, but Albert grabs a hold of the back of his shirt and yanks him back. “Hey, man,” he says and smiles at the man. The man does not smile back. “Okay, uh, listen. I have a friend who works here, maybe he could-”

Jack is just about to leave for his train when he hears new voices yell, interrupting what might be a bribing situation from Albert. Jack’s heart does an uncomfortable twist when he sees Davey run up to their friends. Katherine follows him a second later. 

“We know a few trains he could be on,” she says in between pants. Davey is leaning against the desk, heaving as well. Somewhere in the back of Jack’s mind, he wonders how far they ran to catch him. Then he decides that he doesn’t need to know. 

He turns on his heel and walks away. According to the clock on the wall, his train is due to depart in about ten minutes, so he rushes down a set of stairs and follows the signs to get to the right platform. His ticket feels heavy in his hand. 

He can hear the sound of the train in the distance, and takes a deep breath. He briefly touches his front pocket, and feels the stiff envelope containing his acceptance letter. A place that wants him, that is not filled with people who have lied to him for months.

He adjust the straps of his backpack slightly, shifting under the weight. The train rolls into the station and he takes a step forward. People around him shift and start to move as the train comes to a stop. He ends up behind a woman and her young son, who can’t be more than five and is sleeping in his mother’s arms. Jack can feel his chest tighten a bit at the sight of them, but he ignores it and looks up at the train instead. It’s not like he is never going to see his mother again, he reasons. She will understand that as well, she must. After all, she was the one who encouraged him to follow his heart. So why does he still feels somewhat guilty when he thinks about leaving her, leaving New York?

But he can’t stay, either. Not with his friends who lie and all the memories now swarming in his head. It’s too much. he grips the straps of his backpack a little tighter and gets ready to board the train.

Then there is a sudden, frantic commotion behind him. Loud voices, shuffling. A dull crash, followed by cries of both pain and excitement. Jack glances behind himself, but doesn’t have time to take note of what is happening before he gets tackled to the ground.

His body hits the stone floor of the platform with a thud, and he lets go of a high-pitched yelp as he feels his side ache with pain. There are gasps around him. He can make out another voice going: “I’m so sorry everybody, this is our friend, everything is in order.”

If Jack was not in shock and still in pain, he would have stood up and yelled at the strangers all around that he did not know these people. Now, he can’t think clearly, and instead lets himself be held down by who he guesses are Race and Albert. At least, there’s no doubt that it’s Albert’s snapback that is digging into his chest uncomfortably, and Race is muttering curses under his breath as he clings to Jack. 

“Let me go,” Jack mutters and tries to push them off. “You hear me? Or I’ll soak the two of you.” 

He is almost horrified with himself at how easily the accent slips out. The way he forms the words feels foreign in his mouth. 

He can see Katherine talking to a security guard, obviously trying to explain why two of her friends just manhandled a passenger. He tries to push Race and Albert off him again, but to no avail. 

“Not until the train is gone,” Race mutters, pinning Jack down with even more force than before. 

There is nothing he can do. He is immobile under the weight of his two friends, pinned to the floor. He sighs and glances up at the others. Spot is watching the train closely, and making sure all the passengers get on without complaint or paying the group too much attention. As the King of Brooklyn, Jack thinks, he is pretty intimidating, so most people see his stern face and hurries on the train. The woman with her child barely looks at Jack before nervously continuing down the platform in search of another door.

Davey doesn’t seem focused on neither the train nor security guard. He is looking at Jack. 

Jack can see that he is breathing rapidly, his chest rising and falling heavily. His fists are clenched at his sides. If Jack had been closer, he is sure he would have seen Davey’s pupils dilated with both adrenaline and fear. 

Jack swallows. Takes a deep, shaky breath. He hears the doors to the train close, and with that he loses the last bit of hope he had of going to Santa fe. 

Without actively deciding to do it, he can feel his body relax in defeat and the back of his head hits the ground. 

It isn’t until the train is actually moving that Spot nods and Race and Albert climb off Jack. The platform is now deserted, even the security guard has left. Katherine is watching them from a few feet away. Albert puts out a hand to help Jack get up. He accepts after glaring at it for a moment. The second he is on his feet again, he lunges at Race and Albert. Katherine lets out a small cry of surprise and jumps forward to stop him, but Spot is even quicker and manages to grab the back of Jack’s shirt and hold him back.   
“No,” Jack snarls, fighting against Spot’s grip. “Lemme, I need to-”

Albert and Race have the decency to look a little bit guilty, at least. Jack swings his fist in their direction, but misses with about three feet. 

Davey is the one who steps in, jumping in front of Jack with hands raised in submission. 

“Jack, come on… Jackie,” he says, voice level and steady and so, so Davey. 

The shock of hearing that voice, the exact same as it had been in 1899, makes Jack slow down. It quickly brings back memories of dark rooftops and shaking with silent laughter while another warm body lies beside him. 

He is breathing heavily, but his fists relax slightly. He looks at Davey again. They keep steady eye contact. 

“Dave,” he says - slow and calm with, but with a slight snarl. He can see that Davey looks taken aback by the nickname. “Tell Conlon to let me go so I can kick their asses.”

Davey glances over Jack’s shoulder. Spot is still holding on tight. He whistles low. “Last names, huh, Kelly?” he says, voice dripping in sarcasm and Brooklyn accent. He doesn’t let go.

Jack snarls again, but stops trying to fight against him. 

Davey puts down his hands, but still keeps his face neutral and open. “You know we don’t want to hurt you, Jack, we just…” He trails off, glancing at Katherine for help. “We needed to keep you off the train.”

“Ain’t that nice?” Jack scoffs. “My girlfriend and best friends conspiring against me, real sweet.”

Katherine looks taken aback. “Really?” She walks up to Jack and poking him hard in the chest. her eyes are blazing when she stares up at him. “You need to take a pretty big step back, man. See the bigger picture.” She shakes her head. “And I’m not your girlfriend.”

Jack stares at her for a couple of seconds, jaw tight. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel in a situation like this. Everything is happening too fast, he isn’t able to keep up. He isn’t hurt; it’s no the right word for it.. Not sad, either. After all, he and Katherine had decided weeks ago that they were not going to work out. Of course, that had been before Jack even knew they had been a thing one hundred and twenty years ago. The comment had been more of a reflex, or a habit he has yet to get rid off. Her eyes are not carrying the same warmth as they had the last time he saw them, and he averts his gaze. Somehow it feels to personal to look her in the eye, as if she can read his mind.

“I know,” he mutters. Katherine’s gaze softens a tiny bit and she takes a couple of steps back.

Spot nudges him in the back. “If I let you go, you gonna start fightin’ again?”

Jack glances at Race and Albert, who still look wary. They keep their distance and have their eyes on Jack’s legs, as if they’re scared he might start kicking them. “No,” he says at last. 

“All right, then.” 

Then he is finally released. He rolls his shoulders a bit, and rolls up his shirt to look at his side. It’s scraped, but not too badly. Nothing that will leave anything more than a pretty bad bruise. He glances up at Race and Albert with raised eyebrows. 

“Sorry,” Albert mutters, crossing his arms. 

Race doesn’t say anything until Davey elbows him in the side. “What? Fuck, man. Fine, I’m sorry for hurting you.” He shrugs. “I’m not sorry for tackling you, though. What could we have done, let you go? Not likely.”

Jack brushes off dirt from his pants. “Yeah?” he says. “Ever think that this ain’t what I wanted?”

The others are quiet. Jack swallows. He hates that he can feel the tears burn behind his eyes. It makes him feel shaky and overwhelmed, and it reminds him way too much of his spiralling emotions during the strike.

Katherine silently grabs a hold of his arms and escorts him to a bench. The others follow as he sinks down, his legs giving out without him being able to control it. 

None of them speak for a minute, they just let Jack sit there with tears quietly spilling over. He doesn’t know the last time he cried in front of other people. It must have been years ago, when he was just a kid. The burning in his throat only intensifies as he snivels a bit, and he swallows down hard. He closes his eyes, leaning back as far as he can.

“Jackie,” Davey says softly. Jack opens his eyes immediately. Davey’s eyes are soft and kind as he faces Jack. 

There is a strange tugging at his chest as he does, and it takes all his willpower to not grab Jack and hug him. 

It takes a few minutes, but at last, Jack calms down enough to stop crying. Race pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to him. Jack accepts it after a moment's stunned hesitation. Spot looks at Race, who just shrugs. “I got back into the habit,” he mutters, and the others decide not to delve further into that than necessary. Jack drags the handkerchief over his face with unnecessary force and then takes a deep breath. 

“I wanna go to Santa fe,” he says. Albert sighs. Katherine closes her eyes. Spot quietly works his jaw. 

“Why?” David asks, eyes fixed on Jack’s face. His voice is steady and hard, not revealing how messed up he feels inside. “If you give us a good reason why you want to go to Santa fe, one that isn’t running away, then you can leave.”

Jack stares at him. David stares back. His mind is spinning, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Jack, hoping that he knows him well enough for this to work. No one says anything for almost a minute, quietly observing the wordless conversation the two are having in front of them.

At last, Jack breaks the eye contact. “They have a good art college,” he says to his hands. The excuse sounds feeble, even to his own ear.

“Better than New York?” Spot asks sceptically. 

Jack makes a face in his direction. “Okay, I wanted to run away. But, can you blame me?” The words tumble out without him planning them, but as they leave his mouth he can taste how real they are. The silence that follows them mirrors the hollowness he feels in his chest. “All of you, you just… And you didn’t tell me shit.”

“What would we have said?” questions Albert. “Like you would have believed us!”

“At least I would have been given the chance to try!”

There is an echo to the outburst that makes Jack retract into himself.

Katherine sits down next to him on the bench. “Jack,” she says slowly. “You are doing exactly what you did after what happened with the bulls. Remember?”

Like he could forget. Like he doesn’t see it every time he thinks about 1899. Every time he closes his eyes.

He nods. Katherine continues, but now her voice is turning a bit sharper, less understanding middle school teacher and more strict principal. “You need to stop running away. It didn’t work then, and it sure as hell won’t work now.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

“We hurt you,” Race says and sits down on Jack’s other side. “By ignoring you, and by not showing up tonight. We know that.” He glances at the others. “Some of us have legit excuses, and uh…” he clears his throat. “Some of us… don’t.” 

Albert rolls his eyes at that, but Spot hits him on the back of his head to keep him from interrupting. 

“But,” Race continues. “You must know that it was a mistake. We never wanted to miss it. And, about the last couple of months… We all thought we were doing the best of the situation by not saying anything.” 

Jack is still quiet, but David can tell he is thinking hard. His brows are furrowed tightly together, and his eyes have glazed over somewhat. He looks like he’s somewhere else entirely in his mind. Far, far, away, somewhere he won’t have to make decisions like this. Somewhere he can simply be without thinking or feeling.

“We are so sorry,” Katherine says. “We could have handled the situation so much better, in a way that wouldn’t have made you think running away was the only solution.” 

It is then that David notices that Jack is shaking slightly, his hands trembling. “Jack?” he asks, trying to make eye contact. He leans forward a bit.

Suddenly Jack surges forward and throws his arms around David, pulling him into a tight hug. 

There is a second of stunned silence. Then David hugs back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Jack’s neck. Jack swallows and nods. He finally lets himself completely relax after the hours of tension. He turns almost into jelly, the only thing keeping him upright is David’s grip around him. 

David can sense Jack’s heart beating under his shirt, can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The ultimate proof of the miracle happening to them - the fact that they are both breathing, even one hundred and twenty years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :,) my children
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, if you did don't forget to leave kudos or comments!
> 
> Say hello on tumblr! (I'm taking writing-prompts over there, just send me an ask!) @Pizzas-will-rule-the-world


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After a while, they begin their walk back. The station is waking up, more and more people passing by as they make their way to the subway. He feels weird, out of place. Like the shift in his everyday-life has made him out of sync with the rest of the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm getting emotional and we're technically not even done yet

After a while, they begin their walk back. The station is waking up, more and more people passing by as they make their way to the subway. Jack’s steps are still slightly jerky, but he refuses to let that slow the others down. “I’m fine,” he says gruffly and rolls his eyes at the other’s concerned gazes. Race is a bit shaky as well, and glances around at everybody. He feels weird, out of place. Like the shift in his everyday-life has made him out of sync with the rest of the world. Spot grabs his hand and tugs him a little closer to his side. Race smiles gratefully at him, holding on tightly.

Their silence is suddenly broken when Albert lets out a triumphant laugh and slows down. He nods ahead of them, and the rest of the group follows his gaze to see what he is gesturing to. 

People are running towards them. Their faces bear looks varying from relieved to ecstatic

“Jack!” Mush yells, just to make sure he is noted. He is dragging Blink along by the hand, and beside them are Smalls, Romeo and… Is that Finch? Jack doesn’t have time to mull that over, however, because behind them he can see three other people follow at a slightly slower pace but with smiles just as big on their faces. Crutchie - walking as fast as he can with his crutches -, Specs, and Elmer.

They come to a halt a second before collision. Jack is at once bombarded with hugs and pats on the back. His hair is ruffled and he gets told to “Never give us a fright like that again, I swear to God.” 

He glances at Katherine and Davey with a baffled face in between the affectionate greetings. “How, uh…”

“We called them, of course” Katherine says, tired but smiling. “Speaking of,” she says and gives him a quite stern look. “I think you have someone to get in touch with, don’t you?”

Jack’s eyes widen comically, and he scrambles to get out his phone to call Medda. The others watch, quite gleefully, as his face pales when she answers. “Yes, ma. Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” Over all, it is quite an amusing conversation as long as you’re not a part of it yourself.

Crutchie looks nervous when he gets to the front and faces Jack. His face is pale, with dark circles under his eyes and frown lines showing the worry he has been in for the last hours. The first impulse he has is to hug Jack, to hold him close just to make sure that he is real, but he knows that might not be appreciated. Instead he fixes his gaze on the floor. “Uh,” he starts, mentally preparing for a long, drawn-out and overdue apology. However, it’s cut off by Jack pulling him close. After a moment’s hesitation mixed with surprise, Crutchie puts an arm around him and returns the hug. 

As the group collects itself they decide to get back to the apartment. Les and Sarah are both sleeping when they arrive, wrapped up together on the sofa. Without a word, Davey drapes a blanket over them and gestures for the others to quiet down. Most of them crash into bed, the sofa or on the floor, the whole night’s crazy incidents finally catching up to them. Soon the room is filled with the blissful sounds of light snoring and deep, calm, breathing. 

Specs and Romeo are sleeping at David’s feet, curled closely together like they are scared the other will get away if they let go. Mush and Blink have fallen asleep both curled up in a chair made for one, only a thin blanket thrown over themselves. Crutchie, Race, and Spot are in Crutchie’s bed, fighting over the comforter in their sleep. Somehow, Finch managed to get the best sleeping spot in the living room, on an actual mattress. He shares it with Smalls, however, who is laying at his feet, her spiky hair pressed against the pillow. Elmer is drooling on the couch, pressed close together with Sarah and Les in order to fit. 

David looks around the room, and counts the heads of his friends. He can’t shake the worry, and he can’t seem to calm down without making sure everyone is there, safe and sound in the warm living room. He counts again.

There are two people missing. 

He hears low voices coming from the kitchen, and moves as quietly as he can. He doesn’t really mean to overhear, but it’s hard not to when they are the only ones talking in the whole apartment. 

Jack and Katherine are sitting in the kitchen. The table is usually so small that it feels cramped whenever they eat, but right now the surface stretches out and creates miles of distance between them. It’s still dark outside - it will be for a few more hours - but the clock on the wall persistently ticks closer to morning. Their bodies are facing each other, but they still feel more disconnected than they ever have before. 

“I don’t think we should try this again,” Katherine says. David is standing frozen on the spot outside. He can only see parts of Jack. Katherine’s voice is bodiless, hidden behind the half opened door.

“This?” 

“Us.”

“We really doing this tonight?” Jack asks, his tiredness evident in both the raspy voice and his tense shoulders.

He looks down at the table as Katherine sighs. “Will it really be easier to wait?” she asks. There is a beat of silence, and then Jack motions for her to go on. “I just… We’re not the same people we were.”

David wishes he knew how Jack felt about this. He can only guess by the look on his face, sullen and resigned. 

“I know we ain’t,” he finally says, his voice gruff and low. “But, I…” He sighs, dragging a hand across his face. “I know we decided this weeks ago, but it still feels… strange. Everything has changed, now.”

A moment of silence. “Not everything,” says Katherine, voice mild. “I stand by what I said last time.”

It looks like Jack is chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then he nods slowly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I mean, if that’s how you feel… Then I respect that.” 

“You do?” Katherine asks quietly, and David can hear the relief in her voice. Jack’s gaze softens a bit. He nods. 

“Of course I do,” he says. He hesitates for a second, then stands up. For a second it looks like he might leave, but then he stays for another couple of seconds in the same spot.

David takes the silence that follows as his cue to make his presence known. “Uh, hello,” he says and takes a step inside the kitchen, acting as if he hadn’t been listening to everything being said. “How’s it going?” 

He cringes inside. How’s it going, really? Pathetic. 

Jack’s gaze is fixed at him for a moment. David shifts under his stare and glances over his shoulder. Katherine is pale, but looks otherwise okay. She is looking at the two boys and raises an eyebrow as she meets David’s gaze. he feels his face start to heat up and he quickly looks back at Jack. “Fine,” he says, finally answering David’s question. “I’m just…” he gestures towards his head and makes a face. David nods in understanding. “So I think I’m just gonna head to my bed to get some sleep.”

“Good idea,” David says. “I’ll probably, as well.” He is quiet for half a second. “Uh, not, you know… Your bed. But, uh. On the floor. Or the sofa, I guess.” He grins slightly, but it probably comes out more as a grimace. He can see Katherine look at him from behind Jack with an exasperated face. 

Jack’s mouth quirks at the edges, and he looks down on the floor. “Yeah, uh… yeah.” It looks like he might be about to say something else, but changes his mind with a slight shake of his head. He nods at Katherine and gives David another small smile. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” David says with a thin voice. When Jack leaves the kitchen, he basically collapses in a chair. Katherine ruffles his hair. 

“That went well,” she says sarcastically. 

David shoves her and then puts his face in his arms. “I’m never speaking again,” he mumbles. 

Katherine just pats him on the back consolingly and rises from her chair. “I’ll make you some tea.”

The days that follow are a jumbled mess of feelings and thoughts, coupled with a surprisingly large amount of mundane life. It’s only a few days until Christmas after all, so nobody has a lot of time to actually do anything expect prepare for that. They leave the apartment the morning after, everyone promising to stay in touch and that they will meet up when everybody gets back after the holidays. Jack and Crutchie are left alone in an apartment that now feels way too big for two people. They glance at each other and start cleaning up in silence.

Romeo and Specs are out walking when it happens. It’s two days before christmas, and they are enjoying their last day together before Specs goes home for the weekend. It’s beautiful weather outside despite the cold temperature. The clear, blue sky is almost painfully bright when they walk down the street. Romeo is having one of his slightly over dramatic episodes, and Specs is trying to humor him while also trying to google search where they should eat lunch.

“You’ll probably forget all about me,” Romeo says, sniffling for added effect. 

Specs nods seriously without breaking the eye contact with his screen. “Probably,” he agrees and then puts his phone away to button his coat. He catches Romeo’s eyes that are narrowed the tiniest bit. Specs raises his eyebrows at him. “I’m kidding, come on.”

Romeo pouts. “We won’t see each other for almost a week,” he mutters. “I don’t think I’ll survive with my family for that long, my brothers are the worst.” 

Specs laughs and grabs his hand. “You will,” he promises. “Oh, speaking of your family...” He grabs his phone from his pocket again. “Your mother sent me a text this morning.”

Romeo yelps and tries to grab the phone, but Specs holds it out of reach for him. “Oh, my God, she didn’t.” He groans and drags a hand over his face. 

Specs snickers. “She was really sweet,” he promises. “Apparently you are always talking about me to her?” 

Romeo’s face is bright red and he mutters something about being close to his mom and trusting someone to keep a secret. Specs pulls him closer and gives him a kiss on the cheek in consolidation, which makes him smile instead. 

“She also invited me for dinner on boxing day,” Specs says. “So I can meet her and your brothers.” 

Romeo goes through many emotions over the length of a second: surprise, happiness, fear, and lastly settles on nervous. “Oh God,” he says. “You won’t come out of that alive.”

Specs rolls his eyes. “I figured I would ask you before accepting, does that mean you don’t want me to come?”

Romeo stares. “...No,” he says slowly. 

Specs grins and opens his mouth, but before he gets the chance to say anything his gaze fixes on something up ahead, and the smile falls a bit. Romeo follows his gaze and feels his stomach drop when he sees Mush and Blink walking down the street in their direction. 

After their encounter on the train, none of them have spoken of what happened. Everything had been too much, all energy was focused on Jack. They hadn’t had any time to figure out how to go back to being friends again. Yes, they had apologized. Yes, they had stopped actively fighting with each other. But that doesn’t mean they could just go back to how it had been. They hadn’t even seen each other since saying goodbye outside of Jack and Crutchie’s apartment a couple of days ago. And now there is almost no time at all to prepare until the four of them are suddenly standing in front of one another. 

Mush and Blink glance at each other. 

“Uh, hi guys,” Mush says. 

Specs smiles back. “Hey,” he says. “You, um… out walking?”

They nod. 

“So are we,” Romeo says, as if this isn’t obvious already. “We’re getting lunch.”

“Cool,” Mush says. When there is a beat of silence he nudges his boyfriend, who jerks.

“Yeah, very cool,” he agrees.

The four of them stare at each other for a moment, none of them sure of what to say or how to stop everything from being so awkward. 

“Uh,” Romeo says, scratching his chin. “I think we, well…” He glances at his boyfriend, who nods encouragingly. He turns back to Mush and Blink. Blink is looking very unsure, chewing on his lip and glancing around at everything except for Romeo. Mush looks at him and then back at Specs and Romeo. 

“Hey, could we…” he hesitate, then shrugs slightly. His hands are stuffed deeply into his pockets. “Do you mind if we join you, for lunch?”

Relief at not being the one to suggest it floods Romeo’s body at once. He smiles slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “I think that might be a good idea.”

It’s not a solution. It’s not a promise that everything will immediately go back to normal, because nothing about their lives is normal anymore, after all. But it’s a start. 

*

Katherine feels her stomach trying to revolt as she gets in the elevator. 

“Why am I doing this?” she asks. Her voice sounds small as it echoes of the metallic walls in the cramped space. 

Smalls takes her hand and squeezes it tightly. “Because you want to,” she reminds her. “You know you will regret it if you don’t.”

She makes it sound unquestioningly easy; no hesitation even needed. Katherine can’t bring herself to be as convinced, but she nods anyway and takes a deep breath. Now is the time to ignore her own doubts and rely entirely on her friend’s stubbornness. It seems like the only way to not get stuck where she is now, scared and unsure of herself.

The elevator makes a small ding and the doors slide open soundlessly. They walk out, glancing around the hallway. It is empty. It makes them both feel like trespassers, even though they have every right to be there. 

“This way,” Katherine says, breaking the eerie silence, and pulls Smalls to the right. She is so tiny that she stumbles from the sudden force. 

The door is open when they arrive to the small office. The sound of typing can be heard from the hallway, and it suddenly makes Katherine come to a halt. She is holding onto Small’s hand even tighter than before. Her eyes are wide and fixed on the open doorway. The sound reminds her so much of what she is about to do. And what she did in 1899.

After waiting for almost a minute, Smalls simply pushes her forward and into the room. 

It looks just like Katherine left it only a couple of days before. She doesn’t know what she had expected, to be honest. Her things are still at her desk, her pens and post-its still covering the surface. The rooms is bright, even as the afternoon sky is growing darker outside the window. 

A colleague, Jane, who is one of the junior graphic editors, looks up when she sees Katherine. She smiles at her. Katherine tries to smile back, but it probably comes out as a grimace. Max is sitting at his desk, furiously typing with a frown on his face. His body language tells of how long he has been working, hunched over and eyes fixed on the computer in front of him. He only glances up when Smalls coughs pointedly behind Katherine. He blinks, eyes slightly bleary, and focuses on the two of them with a small frown. Katherine wonders what he is thinking. 

“I didn’t think you’d come in today,” he says and stretches his neck slightly. 

“Uh,” Katherine starts. Her mouth stays open but no sound comes out. 

He raises his eyebrows at her. “You got something to say?” he asks, and stands up. He glances down and sees Smalls. “Who’s this?”

“I, well,” Katherine says and swallows, choosing to only answer his first question. “I am here to talk to you about my article.” 

Max sighs and sits down on his desk, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I told you the other day, I’m not printing it.”

Smalls squeezes her arm. The simple gesture is a comfort, and it makes Katherine rise her chin slightly. Jane is still typing at her computer, but every now and then she glances up at them. Max is still not moving. He just stands there like a disapproving statue. On his face is not quite a glare, but a carefully lain mask to not let his true irritation show. 

Katherine is suddenly heavily reminded of 1899. Standing in front of a male editor, being told he would never publish her piece? It had been her everyday life for years. It had taken so many rejections, so many horrible comments, looks, and sneers, until she actually got her name in the paper. And even then, it had only been in the social pages. Not anything that actually mattered to anyone. Not anything that actually made a difference. Until the strike, that is. It gave her opportunities she could only have hoped for until then. It had made her brave. Even though it had resulted with her forbidden by Pulitzer from writing for any paper in New York, it had been her belief in the cause that made her confident that she would be okay anyway. She has to have that same confidence now.

“I think you should reevaluate,” she says, forcing herself to meet Max’s gaze. 

His eyes narrow slightly. “I’m sorry?” he says, though his whole posture tells her that he is quite aware of what she said. “I am the editor of this paper, Katherine. Not you.”

A churning anger is starting to boil in Katherine’s stomach. She can feel herself grow a little bit taller. “It is a great article. It is well researched, interesting, based on true stories, and will hopefully result in a little bit kinder world. Not publishing it is directly contributing to the issues I’m writing about. If you can’t see that, then maybe you shouldn’t be an editor.”

Smalls lets out an almost silent puff of laughter behind her. Jane is staring at them with her mouth slightly agape. Max is leaning stiffly against his desk. His mouth is fixed in a slight sneer.

“I won’t publish it,” he says through gnarled teeth. Katherine is almost proud to see the slight flush at his cheeks. 

She shrugs. “Okay, fine,” she says and turns on her heel. “I’ll come and get my stuff after Christmas.”

Smalls gives Max a middle finger before following Katherine out of the office. Jane stares after them. When she sees that Max is looking at her, however, she quickly glances down and continues working. 

“Oh my God,” Smalls exclaims and throws herself at Katherine when they get into the elevator and out of earshot from the office. “That was amazing, Kath, holy shit, you really showed him!” She lets go of Katherine, but stays very close, jumping up and down slightly in a way that is quite unlike her.

Katherine leans against the wall, a faint smile on her face. “I did not think that through at all,” she mumbles. She shakes her head, but the grin doesn’t fade. “I just quit my job!”

“On a college newspaper,” Smalls reminds her and pats her back. “It wasn’t even paid.”

“True,” Katherine admits, but her voice is thin. 

It takes about ten minutes for everything to sink in. Smalls is still speaking, excitedly chattering about anything and nothing with a small bounce in her steps that makes Katherine dizzy. Her friend’s sudden hit of energy doesn’t match her own confused mind. They are rounding a corner and arriving to the café where Elmer is already waiting for them. 

Katherine grabs their cup of coffee as she sits and gulps it down before she can taste the attack of sugar. Elmer stares, but she only waves aside the unasked question. “I’ll buy you another one, I just needed… I don’t even know.”

As Katherine sinks down in her seat and places her forehead against the cool surface of the table, Smalls quickly fills Elmer in on what they missed. 

“That’s amazing, though, Kath!” they exclaim and try to shake life life into her unmoving body. “I’m so proud of you.”

Katherine glances up. “Why? This was going on my resume. I was hoping to get an internship this summer, based on this job. What am I gonna do now?”

Smalls and Elmer glance at each other, neither sure how to approach Katherine’s slightly panicked words. “Uh, you will find something else,” Smalls assures her. She puts a hand om Katherine’s cheek. “Remember that you did it for yourself, okay? You did it because you were being treated unfairly, and you knew you deserved better than that.”

Katherine sighs and bites back even more self deprecating words. She shakes her head. “You’re right. I know you are, I just…” She shrugs.

“What if…” Elmer is staring ahead with furrowed eyebrows and a small tilt of their head. After a moment of silence they blink and turn to Katherine. “What if I told you I could help you?”

“I would say ‘keep talking.’” 

“Queer New Yorkers are looking for someone to help with our website, we already have a person responsible for social media, of course, but we are thinking of branching out and publishing articles and interviews.”

They look at Katherine. She stares back. It takes a couple of seconds for the implication to settle. “What, me?” 

Smalls lightly punches her in the arm. “Yes, you!” she exclaims, eyes gleaming with excitement. “They need someone who is good with words.”

“I’m not a part of your group, though,” Katherine says hesitantly. “I don’t know if I…”

“We don’t need an expert on LGBTQ-issues,” Elmer assures. “We need someone who is willing to learn, and who loves to write. Will you think about it?”

Katherine nods slowly and then glances around the café. A woman hurries past their table, quickly talking on the phone on her way to the counter. Two teenagers are sitting at a table next to them, talking over each other. An older couple can be spotted outside the window, walking hand in hand. Everything is mundane, everything is just as normal as it had been when Katherine and Smalls first walked into the office building. It’s almost strange to see everything being exactly the same, when all the thoughts running through Katherine’s mind suggest that a major change just happened. 

She looks at Smalls, who is still looking at her. “Thank you,” she says. 

Smalls raises her eyebrows. “For what?” she asks and fiddles with her wallet. Elmer has risen from their seat to buy themself another sugarbomb mixed with a spoonful of coffee.

Katherine shrugs but keeps the eye contact with Smalls. It feels important that she knows how much she helped. “For going with me. I couldn’t have done it without you, so. Thank you.” 

Smalls’ movements slow down and she grins back at her, the smile calm and satisfied. “Of course.”

*

Christmas Eve has always been a special day to Race. When he was a child it had been the official start to the holidays: he, Nina, Maria and Juliana had always been filled with the childish excitement only christmas and other major holidays can bring. Now, he isn’t as relaxed or blissfully happy as he always used to be. All the stress and anxiety of the fall has made him exhausted. Some might suggest that this means he’d be happy to go home and calm down for a few days, but no. Now that everything has been put on hold he feels strangely empty. How is he supposed to open presents and eat food like nothing has happened?

He can admit that he feels alone. More alone than he ever has while being with his family. It feels strange, because they have always been very close. Race can’t even remember going through a phase during his teenage years where he didn’t crave closeness with his parents or sisters. But now he feels distanced from them, like he doesn’t really belong with them anymore. 

He arrived yesterday evening and has still barely said more than two words to his parents. It had been late when he got home. He had dodged the well-meaning questions about school and then succeeded in sneaking off to his room and falling into his old bed. After lying there for hours, he had finally managed to fall asleep. Now he felt too tired to move. 

He doesn’t know what time it is. He doesn’t really care. 

His room looks just the same: frayed posters over his desk. A large mat on the floor in a disgusting green colour that once had been more turquoise. Over his bedside table, a bunch of old photos pinned to the white wall. Pictures of his family, and pictures from his childhood. Pictures from high school, of Jack and Crutchie and Albert. They make him think of the pictures Jack has put up all around his apartment. There is no way of walking around Jack’s home without knowing who his best friends are. 

Maybe it’s because none of them are here. Maybe that is why he feels so dull. After spending many intense hours together, after going through so much, to just go to not seeing each other at all. It makes him feel hollow inside.

It is especially uncomfortable to be separated from Spot. They had said their goodbyes right before Race had gotten on his bus. 

“We’ll see each other after the holidays, I guess,” Race had said and changed his grip on the duffle bag. 

Spot had nodded. “Yeah.” His voice had been gruff.

It had felt both weird and wrong to sit on the bus without the steady presence of Spot beside him. But maybe the space was good for them. 

After everything that happened with Jack, they had barely had any time to actually process what had happened between them. Yes, Spot had admitted to having actual feelings for Race. And they had slept together again. Had they explicitly said they were dating, though? Had they made any promises? He can’t seem to remember. 

Whenever he thinks about that night, the only image he can conjure up in his mind is the relaxed, content face of Spot. His face had been so smooth when Race had run his fingers over it. A face Race could have described perfectly in his sleep. Dark, deeply set eyes. Hard jawline changing into surprisingly soft cheeks. Thick eyebrows, usually furrowed except for moments like those, when he was the most relaxed. Lips, incredibly delicate, giving Race the impression that he could crush them if he kissed them too hard. 

He opens his eyes, almost frightened by the tightness in his throat. 

There is a knock on the door, and he glances up. “Mom, I don’t really wanna-” But the door opens anyway, and it’s not his mother. Hs youngest sister Maria is standing in the entrance. Her long, dark hair is braided into two tight ponytails. She has stopped wearing her glasses since the last time Race was home, and it makes her face look older somehow. Or, Race thinks, maybe it’s because she is actually getting older. She is only in high school, but he knows how quickly the years will go by. 

She smiles brightly when she sees her brother, like it hasn’t been over four months since the last time. “Hey, bubba,” she says. “Dad has made lunch. Or, more like an afternoon snack, I guess.” 

Race sighs and throws his head back against his pillows. There is shuffling outside the room, but he doesn’t glance up again. 

“Go away,” Maria exclaims indignantly to whoever else is standing in the hallway. 

“You go away!” is the answer, and then Juliana’s cheshire-grin can be seen in the doorway. “Hey, bro,” she says and pushes Maria away from the doorway, ignoring her younger sister’s protests. She strolls into the room. 

“I’ll be down later, Julie,” Race says and grabs his phone from the bedside table to check if anyone has texted him. No one has. 

“Nina is baking cookies,” Juliana says, her firm tone of voice not leaving any room for misinterpretation. “Get up, Tony.”

Race groans and tries to suffocate himself with his pillow. She drags him up from the bed without mercy. 

Five minutes later Race has been forced into a Christmas sweater and pushed into a chair in the kitchen. His mother and father are drinking tea while Nina - who is the sister closest to Race in age but furthest away from him in personality - is running around shuffling cookies into the oven. 

“So glad you could join us, Anthony,” his mother says sternly, but her gaze tells him that she is more concerned than irritated. His dad puts a mug of tea in front of him. 

“We barely talked last night,” he says and inspects Race over his glasses. Race is the only one in the family who has inherited his light hair. The three sisters all match their mother’s darker curls. In contrast; Race managed to acquire perfect eye sight even though his father has worn glasses since he was ten. 

“I was just tired,” Race mutters and takes a sip of his tea. It turns out to be scalding hot, and he quickly puts it down. 

Nina walks by and ruffles his hair. “How’s college going?” she asks. Maria and Juliana are both eying the bowl of leftover cookie-dough. 

Race sighs and shrugs. “Uh, good I guess. It’s just been… A lot.”

“Well, that is understandable, college is hard,” his mom says and strokes a hand over his forehead. He leans into the touch without thinking about it, immediately relaxing when she pats his head slightly. “Are you taking care of yourself? Eating enough?”

Race nods by instinct. “I am. I promise.”

There is a beeping from the counter and a minute later Race has a cookie pressed into his hand. It’s soft and still warm, the chocolate melted in the middle. Maria takes about three. 

“I was thinking of going on a walk before dinner,” Juliana says. She is leaning back against the kitchen counter, breaking off pieces of her cookie. “You wanna come?” She gives him a meaningful look and Race forces himself to not roll his eyes. Race and Juliana had used to “go on walks” together in high school all the time. She is the only one of the siblings who smokes. Even years later she continues trying to hide it from their parents, even though they are both well aware of it. 

“Nah,” he says and shakes his head. “Not feeling like it.”

Juliana raises her eyebrows in a silent question. Race hasn’t told her he’s quit, and now trying to explain himself feels like too big of a mountain to climb tonight. He rolls his eyes. “I’m just tired,” he says, getting sick of repeating himself. “I’m gonna go take a nap, and then I’ll… Come down for dinner.”

“Okay,” his mom says. His dad watches him closely, but doesn’t say anything. After a couple of seconds, Race rises. He brings his mug with him. 

There is an unsatisfactory feeling of not doing as well as he should when he leaves the kitchen. Why can’t he just be normal, and spend some time with his family? Go on a walk with his sister? Why does he feel like an outsider in the one place he should feel most at home?

A nap, he thinks. A nap to rest and clear his head, and then he will try again. Then he’ll be happy and nice and filled with christmas-spirit. Then he’ll stop feeling so goddamn strange.

That decision rises his spirits slightly. He ignores the fact that it is basically avoiding the problem for another couple of hours.

The plan is, however, put on hold when the doorbell rings. He glances back to the front door from where he’s standing with one foot on the stairs. He hesitates. Considers letting his parents deal with whoever is visiting. Then there is another ring on the bell, and he sighs before making his way to the hallway again. 

He almost drops his tea when he sees Spot standing outside on the small porch. 

There are small flakes of snow covering him that contrasts with his hair and dark jacket. His hands are stuffed tightly into his pockets to protects his fingers from the cold. When Race opens the door he glances up quickly. They stare at each other for a second. Race can see how Spot’s body visibly softens when their gazes meet. A quick thought runs through Race’s mind: has Spot been as uncomfortable being alone as he has?

He stares for another half second. Spot swallows. He then opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance to do so before Race has put down the mug and thrown himself over him. 

It has been less than twenty four hours since they last saw each other. It’s not really enough time for them to actually miss each other. Not at all. But when Spot tightens his grip slightly and breathes deeply, Race is sure he is not the only one who has. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks and pushes Spot away slightly. They are still touching. Spot’s hands are on Race’s arms, keeping him close. Their breaths conjoin. 

“I’m visiting you for Christmas Eve.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

A small grin is making its way to Race’s face. “You are, are you?” he says. 

Spot smirks. “I might have asked Jack for the number to your parents, and called them beforehand,” he admits. “I didn’t want to show up unexpected.”

Race lets out an incredulous laugh. “Unexpected?” He hits Spot lightly on the chest. “Asshole!” he exclaims, but he is still smiling and Spot laughs. There is a second of silence, where they are simply staring at each other. Then Race leans down. 

There is no hesitation to the kiss. Spot tilts his head back slightly and embraces it fully. His hands are still resting on Race’s arms, softly rubbing the christmas sweater. There are a couple of seconds of utmost bliss. Everything suddenly feels right again. Like nothing can be strange or difficult when they are together again. 

“I just-” Spot starts to mumble between kisses. “I wanted to see you.”

There is a surging in Race’s stomach. The whole room feels like a rollercoaster, and only Spot’s embrace keeps him grounded on earth. “Yeah?” He is smirking, he can’t help it. 

Spot grins, and it’s so beautiful that Race can’t stop himself from giving him another kiss. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I also wanted to meet your family.”

Race leans back. “You want to meet my family?” The sentence sounds strange in his mouth.

There is a moment of silence where they stare at each other. Then Spot shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. It’s casual, but Race can tell he’s nervous by the slight stiffness in his shoulders. 

He puts a hand on Spot’s cheek. “You sure?”

Spot rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Higgins, I’m sure,” he says gruffly. He raises his chin slightly. “Come on, I wanna meet my boyfriend’s parents. Is that okay?”

Boyfriend.

Race stops breathing for a couple of seconds. His throat is dry. A jittery feeling spreads through his body, making him almost unable to stay still. Spot furrows his eyebrows a tiny bit when he doesn’t answer.

“ _Is_ that okay?” he repeats. This time it is laced with a hint of nervousness. It brings Race out of his slight daze, and he breaks into a large grin. 

“Yeah,” he says and rests his forehead against Spot’s. “It’s definitely okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria, Juliana, and Nina are my children and I love them   
> If you want to know more about them, or just generally have a question, don't hestitate to send me a message or an ask on tumblr!! **@Pizzas-will-rule-the-world**
> 
> I really hope you liked this chapter, please don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you did! 
> 
> We're nearing the end now... I don't think I'm ready


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Jack and Crutchie walk into the living room of Medda’s apartment on Christmas morning, the tree has not been decorated yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. 
> 
> After two months of writing, weeks of editing, and two more moths of posting... We're at the last chapter. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy reading it, because I know I enjoyed writing it.

When Jack and Crutchie walk into the living room of Medda’s apartment on Christmas morning, the tree has not been decorated yet. 

“How did we miss that yesterday?” Crutchie asks, hobbling over to where the boxes are laid out on the floor. They are both wearing pyjamas, refusing to dress in anything else until they absolutely have to. 

“We were pretty tired,” Jack points out and glances into the hallway. “Ma?” he yells, but there is no answer from Medda. A second later, however, the door to one of the guest bedrooms opens and Spot glances out. His hair is ruffled from sleep and he looks like he is considering the probability of being able to knock Jack down with one punch.

“Why the fuck are you yelling at nine in the morning?” he asks, voice laced with barely hidden annoyance, but begrudgingly leaves the room to join them. 

“And a Merry Christmas to you, as well,” Jack says with a grin. “How was Race? You got home pretty late.” He goes to give Spot a teasing shove, but he quickly dodges it and instead throws himself down on the sofa. 

“He sends his regards and a big bouquet of Fuck You’s,” he mumbles and rolls over, facing the wall. “Lemme sleep, will you?”

Crutchie looks like he is on the brink of laughter, but none of them have any time to say anything before there is the sound of Medda walking down the hallway, humming some generic christmas-song. She emerges a second later, wearing a red and green robe and carrying another box of Christmas decorations in her arms. “Merry Christmas,” she greets them. “I didn’t have time to put the decorations up, sorry boys.”

“No worries, Medda,” Crutchie says and makes his way over. “We can do it.”

“You’re a doll, Charlie,” she says and gives him a warm smile. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Crutchie says. “Thank you again for letting me spend Christmas here.”

“Anytime, darling, you’re always welcome here,” Medda says as she throws a blanket over Spot. “I’ll get started on lunch, then. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me!”

Jack and Crutchie start decorating the tree. Snores from the couch tells them that Spot has succeeded in falling asleep again, leaving the two of them to do all the work themselves. Crutchie has put one of his crutches on the floor and is carefully leaning on the other as he hangs stars and glitter from the branches. He is silently humming as he works. Jack is quiet as he decorates the highest branches where neither Crutchie nor Spot would be able to reach. 

The silence between them isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but at the same time it doesn’t feel completely natural either. Jack glances over at his friend, who is rummaging through the box and brings out a small angel covered in glitter. When he then tries to stand up, he grimaces and sinks down on the floor again. “Be a pal, Jack, help me up?”

Jack quickly grabs a hold of his arm and pulls him up to his feet. “You good?” he asks. Crutchie nods with a smile and turns to hang up the angel. 

Jack looks at him for another couple of seconds, before clearing his throat. “So.” Crutchie glances back at him. “I was thinking…”

“Never a good sign,” Crutchie says in a teasing tone. 

Jack bites his lip. “I wanna apologize. For leaving. Again.”

Crutchie stills and turns back towards the tree. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice sounds small. 

Jack shakes his head. “No, I do. I didn’t think about any of you, about my own mother… I could only think about myself, and how I didn’t want to deal with everything that had happened.” 

“It’s okay, I understand.” Crutchie turns back slightly, but has his gaze fixed on his feet. His socks have small elfs on them. “And, well, I know this might be a ‘too little too late’ kind of situation, but… For what it’s worth, I’m sorry as well.” He glances up again. “For how I treated you the last couple of months.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. He isn’t gonna lie and say Crutchie’s actions hadn’t hurt him. They had hurt a lot. He had felt completely abandoned, like none of his friends cared about him anymore. And Crutchie had hit the hardest, since they were closest. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Crutchie continues and leans back his head, closing his eyes for a second. “It just… It was too much. Everything that happened. So it was easier to ignore you, instead of lying to my best friend about… well, everything.”

Jack nods slowly, even if he doesn’t completely understand all of it. He is quiet for a moment before opening his mouth again. “Why couldn’t you just… have told me?”

Crutchie meets his eyes. His eyebrows are raised. “Would you have believed me? And besides, you saw what happened to Romeo and the others. At least he had Specs, but I…” He shakes his head. “I can’t say I actively decided against it, but I see now that I would have been completely alone if the group had turned on me, right?” 

“I wouldn’t have.” 

Crutchie’s face is blank. “You sure?” he says. His voice is thin and Jack nods firmly. 

“We’re family,” he says. “That always comes first, right?”

Crutchie smiles faintly. “Yes. Family.” His eyes look tired, and kind of old. Like he has already lived far too long. It contrasts weirdly with his smooth, young face. Jack briefly wonders if his own eyes look like that; filled with the heavy reality they are both living. 

“Come here,” he says with a small smile and gestures for Crutchie. He pulls him into a tight hug. The warmth and comfort makes Jack release a deep breath he has been holding.   
There is a ruffling sound coming from the couch. When they glance back they see Spot shifting, just woken up. He looks at them, bleary-eyed, and blinks. 

“You might want to apologize to Race, as well,” he says and sits up slowly. He stretches his neck a bit. 

“What do you mean?” Jack asks. 

Spot gives him a look. “Well, he got really hurt by you leavin’,” he says. “You might want to do something about that.” 

It’s not a threat, not really. Jack still nods quickly however, not wanting to anger an already grumpy Spot even further, this early in the morning. “Yeah, sure,” he says. A sudden thought hits him. “Oh, we should throw a party when everybody gets back from break!”

Crutchie and Spot both glance at each other and then back at Jack. “A party?” Crutchie asks with badly hidden hesitation in his words. “You really have the energy to host right now?”

Jack makes a face. “Okay, not a party, then. Just a… get-together. With friends.” A small smile is spreading across his face, and he quickly grabs his phone from his pocket. “Who are we inviting?”

“No one except the other newsies, in that case.” Spot mutters, typing on his own phone. He is probably texting Race. “Plus Katherine, of course, we need some common sense.”

“Okay, good.” Jack starts to compose a text to send to the group chat. As his fingers type, his mind begins to drift off. This is a great idea. A chance for them all to meet again, spend some actual time together. Just like it used to be. A chance to talk through everything that has been left unsaid, a chance to start fresh after everything that has happened.

He could see Davey again. 

The thought hits him squarely in the chest and he stops typing for a second. 

After everything that has happened, he has yet to speak to Davey alone. They only briefly met that night, a slightly awkward encounter where they both had been sleep-deprived and Katherine had been watching them closely. Jack wants to meet him again. Wants to talk to him. A hollow ache of longing creeps through his body and settles in his stomach.

At the same time he can hear warning-bells go off in the back of his head. Will everything be the same between them? Can everything go back to normal? He wants it to. He doesn’t want to lose Davey, ever. He doesn’t think he can actually deal with that, on top of everything else that has happened. 

Memories of the past flashes through his mind. He and Davey had always been close, ever since that first day at the circulation gate. They had contrasted each other perfectly, Davey’s calm but determined focus matched with Jack’s slightly over-the-top passion. Together they had been unstoppable, in everything from selling newspapers to facing Pulitzer. 

Jack blinks. Yeah, no, there is no way he could deal with not being close to Davey. The small risk of losing him is worth the great possibility that they can turn back the clock and go back to normal. 

He leaves the unfinished text to the group chat in his drafts. Instead he begins typing up another message.

The days pass, as they always do. Christmas comes and goes. It is a surprisingly short amount of time until they are all together again. They sit together in Jack and Crutchie’s apartment. Classes will start up again in a couple of days, but for now they can ignore that in favor of relaxation. There is music playing from somewhere. A faint smell of tobacco can be sensed, but there is no telling if it’s because someone is actually smoking or if it is integrated into their clothes. There is lots of different food, pizza and chinese and thai. Bottles and boxes of different types of drinks are easily accessible from a small table next to the wall.

All of the former newsies are sitting in the living room, spread out comfortably around the area. Albert is throwing popcorn at Elmer. In the sofa Katherine is placed, fervently discussing something with Specs. Smalls and Romeo are sitting next to them, both listening to whatever they are talking about. Finch is sipping on a beer while sitting next to Crutchie, who is talking to Race and Spot. The others are talking, joking, or eating and drinking all around the room. The atmosphere is light and comfortable, with no real worries.

David isn’t gonna pretend he’s not slightly nervous. He just arrived, and is still standing in the doorway to the living room. He hasn’t said anything to anyone yet.

It’s not that he is nervous of meeting the newsies. No, that feeling of slight intimidation has long passed. If anything, he is nervous about facing Jack again. Everything could be different now. The carefully crafted acquaintanceship they had built up during the last months could all disappear. It might be awkward, and not like it should. All the work they had done may be ruined now.

Or, David’s mind reminds him, everything could go back to normal. The normal where Jack is your best friend. The normal from 1899. 

They have been texting a bit over the last couple of days. At first it started with a casual message from Jack asking how he was feeling. It had left David with a warm face. Sarah had looked suspiciously at him, but hadn’t said anything. They had continued keeping in touch, talking mostly about their lives and how different everything is. How crazy their situation is.

Speaking, or, well, texting again has been nice. It has been a small confirmation of the fact that they could go back to normal. Hopefully.

He sighs and walks into the room. 

Mush and Blink arrive a couple of minutes later with more chips for everybody. They are greeted with a big cheer, but it might have been more aimed at the snacks than them. 

“Where’s Jack?” Mush asks and throws a bag of doritos to Albert, who opens it with the enthusiasm of a five year-old.

Crutchie shrugs and gestures towards the kitchen. “In there, I think.” He smiles at Mush, who leans down and gives him a hug. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mush says and glances back at Blink. He has stopped at Elmer, the two of them are laughing about something. “Actually, I got-” 

But before he can finish he is interrupted by Jack’s suddenly entering the room. “Okay, guys!” he says and waves his arms to gather the attention of the newsies. “We have some more beer in the kitchen, a courtesy of our very own bartender...” he nods to Finch, who raises his bottle. “...who brought it with him. Otherwise, you all know the drill. Eat, drink, relax, but whatever you do, don’t be bored, yeah?”

The newsies cheer and the party continues. Crutchie can see Jack make his way over to Race and sit down next to him. He smiles at the two of them and then leans his head back slightly, taking a deep breath. The sound of voices around him is soothing. 

Mush clears his throat, but Crutchie has zoned out and doesn’t answer. Blink walks up beside him and puts an arm around his waist. “You told him?” he whispers.

“Nah, not yet,” Mush says, leaning into the embrace. He looks at his boyfriend with a big smile spreading across his face and leans in for a soft kiss.

David still feels slightly off. The whole scene reminds him too much of the last time he was in this room. Sure, the tension and the whole scenario had been completely different. But they had been sitting like they are now. Waiting for any news about Jack’s whereabouts. The memories of that night makes David’s throat close slightly, and he leaves the room again. 

Instead he goes into the kitchen. It is a bit quieter there, and he takes a deep breath. His head is spinning slightly, and he closes his eyes. He manages to get to three deep breaths before movement behind him makes him open his eyes. His heart rate, which had just gone back to normal, picks up again.

Jack looks like he is half considering leaving the kitchen. There is a slight flush on his cheeks, but it might just be from the alcohol or the large quantity of people currently occupying the apartment.

“Hey,” David says, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. 

“Hey,” Jack echoes, nodding. They stand in silence for a couple of seconds, until he opens his mouth again. “How was your Christmas?”

David raises his eyebrows slightly. “Jewish,” he says and points to himself. 

Jack goes completely crimson. “Oh. Shit. Yeah, I knew that.” He shakes his head slightly. “Uh, how was your, well, break?”

There is a small tug in the corner of David’s mouth. “It was pretty good,” he says. 

He’s not lying. Spending some time alone with his parents and, more importantly, with his siblings, had been a welcome pause from the craziness that ensued before the break. They had spent their time talking about a lot of things. He and Les had spent hours discussing their past life. David hadn’t realized how much he had missed talking - honestly talking, without any secrets - to his siblings. 

Sarah didn’t remember yet. There had been a couple of uncomfortable moments where she had left the room because she had a hard time relating to the topic of conversation. “How am I supposed to talk about it when I don’t even know what I’m supposed to know?” she had asked one night while David and she were washing the dishes. “I can’t understand any of it. It’s…” She had shrugged, helplessly. “It’s too much.”

Jack is looking at him in silence. His hair is perfectly ruffled, and it would be almost infuriating if it wasn’t so attractive. Or maybe that was what made it so infuriating in the first place. 

“How about you?” David asks. 

Jack shrugs. “Good,” he says.

“Were you at your mom’s?”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

David smirks. “Did she yell at you?”

Jack turns, once again, slightly red. He pulls a little at the collar of his flannel. “No, she didn’t need to.” He glances up at David. “She knew I felt bad about it as it was.”

“Did you?” There is a tug in his gut. Without intending to he stands a little bit taller.

Jack nods and walks further into the kitchen. He leans back against the fridge, covering the photographs with his body. “I’ve apologized a lot tonight,” he says with a somewhat self-deprecating smile. It makes David want to hug him. “I told Race I’m sorry just a while ago.”

David doesn’t really know what to say to that. 

Jack continues. None of what he’s saying really makes any sense; it’s more like he’s just telling David whatever comes to mind. “I was thinking about our past life, the other day.” The real proof of how messed up their lives are is that David doesn’t think that sentence is weird at all. 

“Yeah?” he says. The kitchen feels even smaller than it actually is. Jack’s body is almost touching David’s. For a second, he captures the scent of him, deep and with a small hint of lemon that reminds him of Crutchie for some reason. Jack’s chest is rising and falling steadily. If he focuses, David can see a small twitch in his fingers, like they are longing to grab hold of a paintbrush.

“Yeah, my brain has been kind of…” Jack shrugs. “It’s been confusing. A lot of things are messed up.”

David’s mind brings him back to the other night and the conversation he had overheard. “Like you and Katherine breaking up?” he asks mildly. Jack glances up. There is a small bit of surprise in his eyes. 

“You knew about that?”

David nods without saying anything. The silence stretches on for a couple of moments. Jack is still staring. The air between them is thick with tension. It is like something is left unsaid, but neither of them is sure how to breach the subject. 

“Are you…” David stops for a second, hesitating. “Uh, are you sad about it?” The question feels stupid and childish. There is no time to take it back or change it however. Jack considers his answer for a moment. 

“I was, yeah,” he says. His eyebrows are knitted together. “I thought…Well, it had been so easy in 1899, hadn’t it?”

Not for me, David thinks. He doesn’t say anything, instead he nods. “You both had more clear paths, then. How your lives were gonna turn out, what was expected of you.” He shrugs. “I mean, that can make it easier to be sure of your feelings as well, I guess.”

Jack nods slowly, taking it in. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. He takes a breath and lets out a small laugh. “Not to mention the fact that I didn’t even realize I liked guys as well, back then.” His gaze lingers a second too long on David, before he looks away again.

David smiles slightly. “Yeah, that too.” He is reminded of the conversation he had with Katherine about this, so long ago. “Did it make a difference, you think? Not knowing?”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. Probably.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s hard to tell. I mean, I did love her, didn’t I? As far as I can tell, I did.” Their gazes meet for a moment. “Uh,” He looks unsure. “Did you… Uh, know that you were queer? Back then?”

Two options. One: Lie. Tell him he had no idea, and that David - just like him - had simply repressed his sexuality to the point that he thought he was straight. 

Option two: Tell him the truth. About everything.

In the end, the choice is easy. How could he lie again, after all they went through the last few weeks? How could he ever deal with that weight on his shoulders ever again?

“Yeah, I knew,” he says. “I knew since… Well, since the strike, I guess.” His voice is slightly raspy, and at first he doesn’t think Jack heard him. He doesn’t react for a couple of seconds, only takes in the information. David’s throat is dry. His heart is beating so loudly he is sure Jack must be able to hear it.

Jack is looking at him closely, inspecting his face. It’s almost as if he wants to memorize it in order to paint it more accurately. David can feel his skin crawl under the fixed gaze, but at the same time he doesn’t dare break the eye contact. A couple of seconds pass, then another one. More cheering and laughter can be heard from the living room. No one walks into the kitchen, however. 

Jack opens his mouth, then hesitates. “Uh,” he finally says. “You… Since the strike?”

There is a big chance David’s voice will fail him if he tries to speak, so he just nods in answer. Jack stares. David can almost see the gears turning in his head, as he slowly connects the dots. 

“So…” he says, and David nods again. “One of…?” He inclines his head backwards a bit, gesturing towards the newsies in the other room.

“Yes,” David manages to get out. “Or, uh, no. I mean, shit-” He lets out a small groan and puts a hand over his eyes. “It’s you.”

Silence. 

Well. So much for going back to how their relationship had been like before. 

The clock on the wall ticks. Every second that passes without anything happening feels like a mockery. With those two words, he had sealed his fate and successfully blocked all the paths to a normal, casual relationship with Jack. 

He doesn’t take away the hand from his face. He keeps it there, closely covering his eyes. His body feels numb, like his mind has left its corporeal carcass and is instead floating aimlessly in the air. His heart is thumping along with the clock. He can feel his face growing warmer and warmer. 

Then there is a hand covering his own, gently prying it away from his eyes. It’s big, but soft. An artist’s hand. 

He meets Jack’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Jack shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says. It’s almost like a whisper, softly spoken in such an unexpected way that it makes David’s breath catch in his throat. 

“But, I…” His voice dies down. He isn’t sure what he was going to say. Every trace of a completed thought is erased from his brain, because Jack is standing closer than before. His breath is warm. His eyes are green. How has David never noticed that before? With how much time he has spent around Jack, looking at him, he should be aware of the fact that his eyes are an incredibly deep green with small flecks of lighter green, almost yellow, in the middle. It’s awfully distracting from the fact that he is coming even closer. David breathes deeply. His mind goes blank and a sort of underlying impulse takes its place, making him lean down the rest of the way and meet Jack’s lips with his own. 

*

The party may have been Jack’s idea, but it turns out that he doesn’t put too much energy into entertaining his guests. He hasn’t been seen for a while, and the former newsies have gone from small, separate conversations to sitting in something that kind of resembles a circle, talking in a large group. Their voices bounce of the walls and mix with laughter and shouts. The topic of conversation changes at a quick pace, everybody has something to say. Their smiles are soft but truly genuine: The work of alcohol, good company, and a large amount of nostalgia. 

“Okay,” Mush says and waves his hands to gather the attention of the room. “What is your absolutely best memory from back then?”

Finch immediately sits up straighter. “Oh, that time we went around pranking people.”

It had been dark, and all around the city sounds of children laughing had been heard. They had went around a long portion of the night, yelling and scaring anybody who had to dared come close. Finch had been one of the leaders of those expeditions. 

Mush nods in appreciation. “Halloween, good choice.” He grins. “I always liked New Years, myself.”

“What about that time we went swimming in Central Park?” Albert says. 

“And the cops chased us away?” Romeo asks with a hint of longing in his voice. 

It had been one of those extremely beautiful summer days. Everybody had been out and about, which had made it easier to sell newspapers. By the time the night had fallen, Albert had found Romeo, Specs, and JoJo and convinced them to hop in the pond with him. The moon had been reflected in the clear water. Everything had been totally quiet, save for their voices and the sound of drops of water hitting the surface as they moved slowly. Romeo hadn’t known how to swim, so Specs and Albert had both helped him. JoJo had taken a couple of unsteady strokes before leaning back and started floating aimlessly. The calm of the night had then been hastily interrupted by the sound of approaching voices, and they had quickly run up and grabbed their clothes before fleeing from the scene with laughter in their chests. 

“That was nice,” Romeo says. He leans back into Specs, who is staring straight ahead without saying anything. The room is quiet for a second. Jack and Davey sneak in as quietly as they can, and sit down on the floor next to the sofa. They are sitting too close for it to be nothing, but no one pays them any attention.

“What about you, Kath?” Blink asks, glancing back at her. She is sitting on the couch, legs drawn up under herself. She smiles and looks up into the ceiling as she thinks. 

“The morning you all made the front page,” she says. She looks around at her friends, who are staring at her with the captivated awe you only get when listening to someone you truly respect. “I mean, it had been a horrible night for a lot of you,” she continues and quickly glances at Crutchie, who is looking down into his lap. “And Jack…” She stops and shrugs slightly. “But we were together, weren’t we?” Race and Albert both nod. Romeo smiles at her. Mush leans his head on her shoulder, and she pats his cheek. Then she glances back. “Jack?” she asks, and he hastily looks up. “What’s your favorite memory?”

He stares at her in silence for a moment, a look of vague confusion etched into his face. When the seconds pass without him saying anything - without him knowing what he should say - David cuts in.

“Winning the strike. That’s my favorite memory, at least.” he glances back at Jack, who squeezes his hand appreciatively. His thoughts are running through his mind. Everything that has happened tonight is catching up to him. The body right next to his is a calming presence, however, and he takes a deep breath and focuses his attention on his friends again. 

A murmur of nostalgic giddiness surges through the room. “I can’t believe we actually won,” Finch says with a laugh. “We were just _kids._ ”

The strike had been the biggest thing in their lives. They all remember the feeling of adrenaline in their veins, how raw their throats had felt after screaming for hours, and the blood in their mouths as they were crossed. 

The room is once again pretty quiet. Everybody are in their own, pensive thoughts.

Elmer clears their throat. “My favorite memories are the nights at the lodging house.” Smalls smiles slightly at them, which encourages them to continue. “Like, just being with you all and spending time with you.” There is a small shine to their eyes, and they look down at their lap. “I don’t know, that might be a bit sappy.”

Mush grabs their hand. “Sappy is good,” he says firmly. Nods of agreement comes from the others. “I think that sappy is what we need, right now.”

David glances at Jack, and is almost surprised to see that he is already looking at him. Their gazes meet for a long moment, speaking without saying anything. David’s chest tightens and he grabs a tight hold of Jack’s hand. Mush is right; sappy is definitely good. 

Their conversations grow quieter as the darkness outside grows deeper, and after hours go by they can barely distinguish one voice from the other. They mingle together and become one, as if their group is an individual itself. Later, it’s clear that they all remember different parts of the night clearer than others. Smalls remembers the feeling of sitting pressed between Katherine and Romeo, warm and steady bodies constantly touching her sides. Blink clearly remembers when he and Mush tell everybody about the fact that they have decided to move in together at the end of the semester. Katherine can recall perfectly the sound of the laughter in the room as she tells them of how she quit her job, and the reassuring smiles she got from both Smalls and Elmer. Spot is unable to forget the tired but content smile on Race’s face as he leans into his side; hair tousled and cheek soft as he presses it against Spot’s neck. David can only think about Jack’s hand in his, the casual touch that makes his stomach surge every minute or so. 

The conversations continue on. The clock keeps ticking in the kitchen, counting the seconds that turn into even more minutes they spend in each other’s company. More stories are told, more memories and old anecdotes are shared. They all seem to sink further into their seats as the evening turns into night. No one leaves the apartment until the moment they absolutely must. For now, there is no rush. So they sit and talk and take in everything they can. They soak up every feeling, every word spoken, every smile shared. They stay like that for a long time, until the sky outside turns from an impenetrable blackness into a dark grey colour. Until their limbs are so stiff from the stillness that they groan when they move. Until they are absolutely sure there is nothing more for them to discuss that night. Only then do they allow themselves to stand up and continue on.

It is here we will leave the former newsboys. 

Their story is far from finished. Even though the air in the room is nostalgic and sentimental, it is not the end for this group of friends. Not only will they continue to see each other every day for a long time, but the years ahead of them will also be filled with some strange encounters with people that they know, or have known before. In some cases they can be predicted, like when Finch and Jack walk in to the gym that JoJo works at and is met with a familiar grin. In some they can not be predicted at all, like when Albert orders a tuna sandwich from a restaurant downtown and gets a note from the chef signed with an _H._

Sometimes these encounters will be with a person who barely gives them a second glance, even though they are painfully recognizable. Other times, however, they will be lucky and see a flash of remembrance in their eyes. 

None of them know this right now. They don’t know that their group will slowly expand again. They don’t know of the people who are out there, just biding their time until they are ready to take in the whole other world the others have already been exposed to. Until they are ready to remember. 

So for now, they are sitting in a sort-of small apartment in New York, watching the first light of the morning make its way into the living room. 

Another day has come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!
> 
> Firstly, a massive thank you to Lily who has dealt with me rambling about plotholes and character dynamics for hours, and who has read this story from start to finish I don't even know how many times. I stand by what I said: I couldn't have done it without you. Love you, you're the best<3
> 
> Also thank you to Em because I always look forward to seeing you live message me about every new chapter, it's been great, you're great!!
> 
> And of course, to everyone else who has read, left kudos and/or commented on this fic. It's thanks to you all that I've kept the motivation to edit and finish posting this long ass, dramatic story. Love you all so so much!!!
> 
> _If you are interested in reading more of my fanfictions, I'm taking prompts over on tumblr!  
>  Or if you just wanna come say hi, I love getting messages and asks!!!   
> @Pizzas-will-rule-the-word_
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day!


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